Marks Under the Skin
by elfx9
Summary: Brendan has been in prison for three years, and upon returning finds Steven a shadow of his former self. Now rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Just trying out an idea I had. This is the **_**prologue, **_**if you will. And I have a good idea of where it's going, but I want to test the waters first – so if people like this, I'll continue. **

**I will of course finish 'Behind Closed Doors' though – and will attempt to do so before Pa Brady turns up on the actual show.**

**XOXOXOX**

Three years it's been. Three long, painful, empty years. Three years of nothing but bars on windows, labour in the kitchens, watching cellmates come and go, keeping eyes and fists down. Three years of being on his best behaviour just so he could guarantee this moment; so he could guarantee that one day he'd be able to come out and see Steven again and hold his head high when doing so. So he'd be able to tell him truthfully that he tried, that he worked hard, that he did him proud.

Part of him knows that he shouldn't be doing this; re-entering Steven's life. He had told Steven the day before he went inside that Steven needed to move on; forget him, find somebody else. And after eight months of blocking Steven's calls and refusing to meet him during visitors hours, Steven's insistence to keep up contact had lessened, and finally he had disappeared from Brendan's life. Eventually he'd have fallen into the arms of a new man and forgotten all about Brendan and the trauma Brendan caused him when he'd been thrown into jail.

"_Please Brendan, I can't do this without you. We can… we can run away – go to another country or somethin'."_

"_Why are you doin' this, you bastard?! What have I ever done to you?! I wanna still see you – is that so fuckin' hard for you to deal with?!"_

Brendan knows he shouldn't be re-entering Steven's life, and yet he's already halfway up the driveway. Because any attempts to avoid seeing him will be ultimately futile. They've tried staying away from each other too many times before, and it's never worked out. If Brendan even tries avoiding the situation, it will only prologue the misery and wondering – and he needs to get this over and done with; he's resigned to the fact this will happen.

He knocks on the door to the flat. His old flat, where he – for a few short months – lived a somehow blissful existence with Cheryl and Steven and Leah and Lucas. His family, all together. Before the police came hounding, and Amy whisked the kids away, deeming their circumstances 'unsafe', and everything came crumbling down around them.

A topless man answers the door, and Brendan doesn't even have it in him to feel surprised. He's the kind of guy that vaguely washed through Brendan's mind over the years; the sort he imagined Steven to be with. Tall, muscular, handsome but not conventionally so – rugged looking.

"Can I help you?" He asks, and his accent is strong mancunian. Like Steven's.

"Yeah." Brendan replies. His voice is gruff and croaky; barely used for three fucking years, and he hadn't even noticed. "I'm looking for Steven Hay."

"Steven Hay?" The guy sounds surprised.

Brendan frowns impatiently, "Well this is where he lives, is it not?"

"Used to be." The man shrugs, "He moved out years ago."

What?

What the _fuck? _

"Then who the fuck are you?!" Brendan snaps.

"I'm the owner of this place, mate." The man bites back, offended. "Who the fuck are you?"

Brendan's eyes glaze past the man, into the flat that used to be his. The walls are still the same… but the whole place looks and smells and feels different. It's strange… he feels like he's been asleep a lifetime and has woken in a weird alternate universe.

"Brendan Brady." He mutters quietly, but even that he can't be so sure of.

The man's expression shifts slightly. Does he recognise the name? Possibly – Brendan doesn't exactly have the best reputation round here.

Brendan swallows. "Do you know where Steven Hay lives? By any chance?"

XOXOXOX

All Brendan can think is… _why? _He left Steven behind with a flat, a club, all the money he needed and more. Enough to support himself. Enough to fly out to America and fight Amy to bring the kids home. Enough to get on with his life without any need for Brendan at all. A _better _life.

So why the _fuck _is he living in this shit-hole? There must have be some kind of mistake. This block of flats is even worse than the vile godforsaken slum he _used _to live in, and that's saying something. This flat is on the seventh floor, and the kitchen window is smashed and cracked so that Brendan can see right in. And he knows Steven would never _ever _work in a kitchen like that. It's a magnet for rats, if anything. This can't be where he lives. Not a chance in hell.

But even so, Brendan knocks on the door. His heart hammers – the most action he's felt in his chest for three years. But it's not excitement and it's not loving jitters… it's just fear. Because if Steven actually answers this door, Brendan doesn't know what he will do. Steven can't live _here. _This is so very wrong, so not him, and how the hell could this have happened?

His heart is hammering and his palms are sweating, but when Steven opens that door it's like all of it stops. Everything. There's nothing but a low buzzing in his ears. His skin just feels numb. His heart frozen. His blood cold. There's bile that churns in his gut but doesn't even have the muscle to rise.

"Jesus…" He breathes, almost inaudibly.

Because this isn't Steven. Not _his_ Steven… not the man he left behind three years ago. He looks _vaguely_ like him, but his frame is now frightfully bony – more so than ever before. His eyes that were once shining, loving and soulful now look cold and are rimmed with dark circles of tiredness. He wears a baggy t-shirt that looks worn and unwashed, same as his messy hair. In his left hand dangles a cigarette, which drops numbly to the floor as Steven reviews the man in front of him.

"Brendan…" He whispers, his plump lips falling open in shock.

Brendan has to swallow several times to get rid of the lump in his throat… to develop any kind of voice at all.

"I… I got let out a year early." He mutters

"Oh my God."

So many questions. Brendan has so many fucking questions, but none of them can travel fast enough from his brain to his voice-box. _What the fuck has happened to you,_ being the main one. But before he can even comprehend saying another thing, his eyes are travelling down Steven's body and his heart sinks in cold, hard despair at the needle-marks that flash up on Steven's arms.

This has to be a nightmare. Some sick nightmare – it only feels real because it's interrupted the hundreds and hundreds of normal dreams where Steven is _Steven, _and would never _ever _do this.

"Wh… what have you… what's…"

"Brendan you should go." Steven says suddenly. His voice is harsh. Piercing.

"No," Brendan says immediately, surprising himself. And any hesitation or apologetic reluctance is lost; he steps forward and grabs hold of Steven in both arms.

"Brendan!"

"Steven wh… what's happened?! Tell me."

"Get OFF!" Steven snaps, and pushes Brendan away so that he actually stumbles slightly on the doorstep and back onto the balcony of the apartment block, "Jesus you can't jus'… you can't jus' _show up _here!"

His voice seems so empty, somehow. There's none of his usual emotion – none of the vulnerability that always crackled below the surface of his strong exterior. He seems hard. Tough. Unforgiving.

It _must _be a dream. The last time they were together, Steven was naked in their bed. His limbs were wrapped tightly around Brendan and he'd gazed up at Brendan with a lop-sided goofy grin. He'd openly told him that he loved him. He'd snorted with laughter, and slept soundly with his mouth hanging open, and he'd been so _perfect. _He'd been all-giving.

Three years have passed since then and Brendan knows that, but still this seems impossible.

"Why aren't you at the flat?" He asks despairingly.

Steven actually laughs at that. A laugh that is bitter and _hateful _sounding. "I am Brendan. _My _flat, with _my _boyfriend."

"Why here?! Where's all that money I ga…"

"… And he'll be back any minute, so you should really just do one."

Steven begins to close the door, but Brendan's not having any of it.

"HEY!" He barks angrily, and pushes the door back open with strength that Steven can't compete with, "You fuck off with that – I'm not leavin' ye like this Steven; look at the state of ye."

"You _did _leave me!" Steven growls, "Three years ago!"

"Yeah, not so you could go and fuck yourself over!"

"How DARE you! It is NONE of your business how I live my life anymore!"

"This isn't you!" Brendan cries, incredulous. "Drugs… needles… are… are you fuckin' _kidding _me?! Who's done this to you?"

Steven looks Brendan up and down; his eyes soulless as they survey Brendan scathingly.

"You did." He says flatly.

And he slams the door.


	2. Chapter 2

When Brendan stands on the doorstep it's like Ste's looking into a different lifetime – a million years ago. It knocks him for six… to see him like that. That sharp suit, piercing blue eyes, hands casually stuffed in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and screaming masculinity.

In many ways Brendan is a faint memory of a different existence, but in many others it's like he never disappeared at all. He's vivid, and Ste's stomach still bubbles when he sees him; reminiscent of all those years ago. For a second… just for a second… Ste feels like that boy again. It's like those long three years have rewound.

But then he remembers.

And _how dare _Brendan show up here. How _fucking _dare he. The man that ruined Ste's life… over and over and over. The man that Ste dedicated _years_ to loving, to trying not to love, to trying to move on from. The man who declared to Ste that he loved him, promised him everything, and then ditched him the same day. The man that made his life a living hell – played on his mind like a dirty little desire he couldn't get rid of. The man that Ste left a secure life with his husband for. The man that _somehow _had Ste believe _again _that he had changed… he was _the one. _

The man that moved in with him, made love to him, made his heart ache with love and happiness. The man that Ste – for some _stupid, blind _reason – put all of his trust in, even after everything.

The man that got his prison sentence, took Ste's heart and CRUSHED it into a million unfixable pieces. Same as he'd crushed it many times in the past, but this time was by far the worst, because Ste had been _convinced _– utterly _convinced _– that they were for keeps this time.

"_You go. Move on, find someone else." _Those cold, dark, bleak words are still so clear in Ste's head.

"_Y… You… You what?!" _Ste had gaped back. It hadn't made sense at the time. Ste had been so fucking stupid and naïve that this had completely thrown him – he hadn't seen it coming in a million years.

It had simply destroyed him, in more ways than he could have anticipated. Ste had given up everything for Brendan, devoted everything to him, and now Brendan was walking away from him as though he were nothing… as though he never was. Like everything they'd been through together was a lie.

It had shattered Ste… but he doesn't remember it now. Muddled months of trying to visit Brendan in prison, trying to phone him, and being outright _rejected. _He couldn't reach him… like a bad dream where you run and run and can't get anywhere. Like it was Brendan's God Damn fucking _right _to deny Ste his free will. It was all a bad dream, and apart from a few hazy memories, he's shut it all away in the back of his mind.

Until Brenan shows up so shamelessly on his doorstep. Like the ghost of the past gravitating into this alternate universe.

"Who's done this to you?" He asks Ste.

And the sheer _audacity _of that question is _disgusting. _

"You did." Ste says fiercely. And he slams the door.

Because whilst it wasn't Brendan who put the drugs in him, it wasn't Brendan that took his kids, it wasn't Brendan who stole his money… it was Brendan that set him on the path. And Ste blames him completely. Always has, always will.

XOXOXO

Ste is shaken and stressed, even an hour after Brendan has gone. He chain-smokes a whole pack of twenty fags – not his own fags either, and he knows his boyfriend will be pissed at him for it. There are no roaches for a spliff, and all the coke has gone. This fucking shithole just got shitter; it's completely empty.

Ste's phone rings at around 5:15pm; his boyfriends picture flashing up on the screen; "ANDY CALLING". Ste looks at it for a little while… and there's an inexplicable sense of guilt creeping up his gut. Not cos of the fags, but cos of Brendan. Of course. It's always Brendan. It's a feeling that's vaguely familiar; reminiscent of all those years ago when he was with Rae, or Noah, or Doug. What he feels now is only _slightly _similar though – because he was a different person back then, who's persona was lively with emotion. He's drained of that now, and any significant feeling is only ever a low numb creep in his skin, never reaching the surface.

"Hiya." He says flatly into the phone.

"Keep the door on the latch; me mates are comin' over." Andy barks at him down the phone. There's traffic in the background. He sounds out of breath.

"Oh." Ste blinks, surprised. "I thought it was gonna be just _us two_ tonight."

"Change of plan."

"You coulda fuckin' told me!" Ste snaps, unable to stop himself. He hates Andy's friends with an absolute passion. Detests them, in fact.

"I'm tellin' you now!" Andy snaps back, "Get some beers in will ya?!"

"No, fuck off, get 'em yourself."

He hangs up the phone immediately, lighting up a cigarette-butt dished from the ashtray. He shouldn't have sworn at him like that, and Andy will be a nightmare later because of it. Ste will be making it up to him all night. But right now he doesn't care. This day's gone from bad to worse and WHY… WHY the FUCK… is he STILL thinking about Brendan?!

Unbelievable. His life with Brendan was _so _long ago, _so _far removed from his life now that even harbouring thoughts of him is like mourning the dead. Only now it's the waking dead, because he's aware that Brendan exists… and that he's out there somewhere. And that warms a strange place inside the pit of his stomach that _definitely _should not be warmed by him. Nor anyone for that matter. That's the place that stings the most when he gets hurt.

He ends up getting the beers, only because he's gagging for one himself.

He then ends up stuck on the edge of the sofa like the mute straggler as Andy and his mates banter loudly amongst themselves with crude innuendos and tasteless anecdotes. They swig beer and pass joints, and Ste TWICE finds himself skipped in the circle as the spliff is passed around – like he's literally invisible. Fuck it; he's used to it with these twats. He's nothing but 'Andy's wet hole' to them. All of them in their mid-to-late-30s, their tracksuits paid for by benefits, their drug-habits paid for by selling stolen goods.

"Why were you bein' such a little twat to me on the phone, eh?" Andy asks Ste once they get a private moment, "I got ya some trainers today, but you can fuck off if you want 'em now."

"I'm sorry." Ste mutters, eyes fixed on the ground, "I hard a hard day, y'know."

"What, sittin' on your arse, smokin' my fags?"

"No." Ste replies, detecting the sulkiness in his own tone. "I'll buy you some more, anyway."

"Yeah with _my _cash."

"Oh, I fuckin' WON'T then!"

"OY!" Andy shouts, loud and properly angry this time; there's only so much sulky back-chat he can handle before his impatience with Ste peaks.

But then he softens, and is quiet when he says, "Wipe that stupid look off your face. Smile for the lads."

And directs Ste back into their ring of fire.

Ste endures another hour of their laddish heckling and repartee, listens acutely as their voices gradually start to slur with being drunk and getting stoned. It's only a matter of time now before their eyes start to rake over him and the comments start; the ones constructed to undermine him into submission.

He's not going to give-in to them tonight though. He's feeling angry and defiant, and this evening it's a definite _'no', _no matter what powers of persuasion Andy tries on him. He's heard them all before anyway.

"_What ya bein' such a little pussy for, Ste?! It's just a cock – you've sucked 'em before."_

"_I've been dead nice to ya all week, and this is how ya repay me? Showin' me up in front of me mates?!"_

"_It turns me on. And I know you like it when you get into it."_

"_C'mon, the quicker you go in there with 'im, the quicker you get out."_

"_Look, I owe Matty a ton of cash, alright? If you don't do this, he's gonna have my neck – is that what you want?!"_

Tonight Ste decides to nip it in the bud before the idea is even posed. He shuffles up close to Andy on the sofa and rests his head with affection onto the broadness of his shoulder. On occasion this simple move has proved suitably endearing for Andy; reminding him why he fell in love with Ste in the first place.

"I'm dead tired, me." Ste mumbles.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I might call it a night. Go to bed."

"Fuckin' hell." Andy scoffs, "Anyone would think it was _you _that was out makin' a livin' all day, not me."

Ste has half a mind to retort that selling drugs on the street is _hardly _a living, or much of a strenuous task given that Andy does lines with _most _of his customers. In fact what he's _really _been doing is getting fucked all day, whilst Ste's sat in a cold flat with no gear at all. But pointing his out is not going to help his case.

He simply snuggles closer instead and whispers, "Thanks for gettin' me them trainers. I _am _grateful."

Andy sniffs ungracefully, "Hmm. I'm still makin' my mind up bout whether you're gettin' them."

Well that's good. An improvement on the 'definitely not' of an hour before. Ste smiles. He might actually get away with this tonight.

He's about to add flattery to his schmoozing-technique, before he's interrupted by a loud banging on the door. A knock that is forceful and definite.

Andy scans the room. All of his mates are here, so it isn't anyone he's expecting.

"The fuck is that?" He mutters.

Like a sixth sense, Ste already feels uneasy.

Andy's mates keep talking among themselves as Andy goes to answer the door, so Ste has to really _strain _to make out the voices. But the guest's voice is instantly recognisable. A low Irish haunting drawl.

"Is Steven here?"

"Steven?!" He hears Andy answer back, "Don't know a 'Steven' mate. Do one, will ya?!"

"Now that's no way to greet a guest, is it?" Brendan's voice is strong; condescending, impenetrable.

He has no idea who he's fucking with.

And Ste finds himself jumping up immediately; running towards the front door to stop Brendan making the biggest mistake of his life.

"Oy – you heard 'im, get out of here will ya?!" He barks at Brendan. He tries to push past Andy, put some space between the two men. But Andy doesn't budge.

"You know this posh twat?!" Andy demands at Ste.

"No, not really." Ste dismisses. He tries again to get between Andy and Brendan; to close the door. But Andy's not having any of it.

He and Brendan are almost the exact same height, but they're like chalk and cheese. When Andy squares up to him, his fierce brown eyes meet Brendan's blue ones, which right now are glimmering with fake amusement; the kind of amusement that is tightly-wound and could snap into violence in a second.

Andy looks rough, brutal, ready for a fight. Brendan look poised, severe, fierce. Andy's shaven head and tattooed neck contrasts distinctly with Brendan's polished, well-cared for suit and moustache. Their demeanours completely oppose, but ring equally dangerous in Ste's mind. He knows them both well enough to know he has to stop any confrontation – _now. _

But as Andy squares up to him, Brendan becomes distracted. His eyes travel from Andy to Ste, and melt in concern. Ste feels suddenly self-conscious although he knows he shouldn't; he doesn't have to prove _anything _to Brendan. But he's now hyper-aware of how large his pupils must be, and how his body is rocking slightly from the mixture of drugs and booze. Brendan's eyes disturb him as they penetrate him with his concern.

"OY!" Andy suddenly shouts, "The fuck are you lookin' at mate?"

And he shoves Brendan, hard.

"Andy don't!" Ste cries, "He's not worth it."

"You better tell me who this mother-fucker is, right now."

"_No one!_" Ste insists.

"I'm Brendan Brady." Brendan says plainly; unaffected by Andy's evident fury. The arrogant idiot. "And you put your dirty hands on this suit again, we're gonna have a very serious problem."

"Is that right?" Andy hisses.

"_Yes._" Brendan says, with genuine irritation. "It's Aramani."

This only seems to make Andy angrier.

Ste's heart hammers uncomfortably. "Andy please," he tries again.

Andy turns to him, red-faced and furious, "YOU BEEN FUCKIN' ABOUT WITH YOUR EX?!"

"NO!" Ste insists, "No – I swear down, _no!_"

"Christ," Brendan comments, with feign breeziness. He scrutinises Andy shamelessly, "You're an angry little fella, aren't ye?"

Andy seethes. "I'm gonna give you three seconds to get off my property."

"Council's property… technically."

"One…"

"Andy, please…" Ste begs futilely.

"Two…"

"Brendan, FUCK OFF!" Ste changes tactic.

It's Brendan though, that says "Three."

And then it all happens in a flash. Brendan seizes Andy by the scruff of the neck, and with admittedly impressive strength, somehow manages to pull him from his feet and out of the flat, onto the balcony of the apartment block. He slams Andy into the outside wall, up in his face; vicious and dangerous.

But by the time Ste has run out with them, Andy already has his pen-knife pushed up against Brendan's stomach, and the two are still – daring each other to make the next move.

"Go on," Brendan's voice practically hisses, "I dare ye."

"No… Andy, you'll go back to jail!" Ste croaks desperately.

Brendan stares Andy in the eye and declares, "You know Andrew_… " _He points to Ste, "that man there is worth _ten times_ what you can give him."

Ste's stomach flips in fury. The hypocritical fucker. To say such a thing to Andy, when _he's_ hurt Ste more than Andy ever could. When Andy went to prison and had the decency to call and stand by Ste throughout his whole six months inside – instead of casting him away like Brendan did.

"Oooo yeah!" Brendan cackles, sounding almost deranged as Andy presses the knife harder, warningly, into Brendan's belly. "Oooph, harder! Jus' like that!"

"I'll fuckin' kill ya." Andy hisses.

"Andy, please!"

"Big man with a blade, ain't that just…" Brendan ponders for a moment, "… Cliché."

And now Andy's mates are starting to trail outside – and they may be stoned out of their minds, but these are guys that jump at a fight when they see the opportunity. And Ste has been witness to it far too many times; he knows the result of their joint efforts, and it's never _ever _pretty. FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He knows in the dark pit of his mind that he should just go inside and let these guys do their worst to Brendan. It's what he deserves for everything he put Ste through – or at least Ste would _like _to think that.

But somehow he doesn't.

And as they rally round Brendan, Ste screams out, desperate, "ANDY WAIT! I… I invited 'im here. Cos… cos I thought he'd bring some good stuff with him… for us… for free… cos Brendan deals, like big-time dealin' – remember I told ya?"

This has bought him some time, at least. They've stopped rounding on him and their fists - although clenched - stay firmly at their sides.

The allure of hard free drugs is enough to fracture Andy's unwavering thirst for blood as well.

"Give us the stuff, and you might get off lightly." Andy hisses to Brendan.

To which Brendan only snorts in amusement, "Now do I look like the type that chauffer's crack to the crack-heads?"

Ste grits his teeth tight. The man clearly has a death-wish.

"No, but you can get it for us…" He tries weakly.

"Actually I think if there's ever a reason NOT to give people drugs, you guys are a fine advertisement."

The gang stiffen. Ste can hear their breathing hitch, their fists tighten. They start slowly rounding on Brendan again.

Ste's at a loss to know what to say now, but he knows he has to _keep _talking, to _keep _stalling and perhaps somehow a way out of this will arise.

So he continues, "No, Andy, listen right… he's just messin'. He's got loadsa dealers in this area. Haven't ya Brendan? I know you have."

"Not for you, Steven." Brendan says; and his tone is - for the first time - serious.

"Right, that's it." Andy growls, "Time's up mate."

In a sharp movement, Brendan pushes himself away from Andy and the knife (slamming Andy's head hard against the wall as he does so), but that only leaves space for a hard punch in the stomach from Matty – by far the biggest and most brutal of Andy's cohort.

"NO!" Ste screams, as they all reign in around Brendan. Fists pounding, and the hard soles of their shoes slamming down into flesh.

And somewhere among the chaos and sounds of grunts, shouts and fists, he hears Andy demand, "Get him inside, will ya?!"

Next thing he knows, he's being dragged into the flat by a pair of strong, muscular arms. Nigel, the mid-40s skinhead, has one arm wrapped around Ste's shoulder and neck, the other holding his hands behind his back. And no matter how hard Ste struggles, he can't fight this weight. He's pulled inside the flat, and then Nigel slams the door and Ste can't see or hear any of it anymore.

"YOU BASTARD!" He screams, as Nigel stands and guards the front door – blocking Ste from the violence outside.

"Shut the fuck up." Nigel sighs with casual, dismissive tone.

"No… THEY'RE GONNA KILL HIM!" Ste cries.

"So what?!"

"So…" Ste feels his chest tighten, stomach clench, heart hammer. He's not felt like this before... not for years anyway. This state of heightened emotion is something he's been withdrawn from… and preferred it like that. Now it's like he can't even breathe. "We have to stop 'em."

But Nigel's not listening to him, and if he were he would never regard Ste's opinion as anything noteworthy anyway. Ste finds himself helpless; trapped and overlooked, with some form of punishment almost certain to be waiting for him once Andy has finished doing whatever he's doing with Brendan.

Ste takes deep breaths and convinces himself that Andy won't take it too far… _can't _take it too far because his last stint in prison had been 'fucking hell' and he won't want to go back there again any time soon. He convinces himself that Brendan will fight them off, because this is _Brendan Brady _remember – the cold-hearted, vicious, hard-fisted psychopath.

He tries to convince himself that's true, anyway.

He snorts up a generous line of coke; hoping that it will keep those unwanted emotions away – emotions that are no good to him anymore.

And he doesn't cry. He hasn't cried for years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: There ain't nothing remotely romantic about this chapter. Except grim romance, I guess.**

**XOXOXOX**

"What the hell has happened to you?"

Brendan looks firmly into his sisters panic-stricken eyes. Despite the disappointment that knots in his stomach… the feelings of anger at her that gnaw away inside of him… he manages to produce a smirk.

"You should see the other guy."

"Five minutes you've been out of prison, Brendan, and look at you!" She sighs, exasperated. "C'mon, come inside."

Cheryl's new place is convincingly domesticated; blooming with the signs of a couple living inside. There's a rack of shoes by the front door, a family-sized living area with three large coushy sofas, some birthday cards lined up on the fireplace which Brendan assumes must be Nate's. At the same time, there's enough décor to insist that Cheryl wears the trousers in the relationship. Garish pink fluffy cushions and tacky storage boxes decorated like tins of Celebrations. Christ. Where does she get this shit?

The floor is scattered with the baby toys that remind Brendan that he has a nephew crawling around here somewhere.

"Where is the little scamp?" He asks, allowing the presence of innocence to offload his anger somewhat.

"Nate's taken him out. They'll be back soon."

"Mm-hm."

"Tea, love?"

"Ye got anything stronger?"

"Yes." Cheryl resigns immediately. If she argues, she'll only be wasting time – and judging by Brendan's battered and bruised state, his brooding persona… he's here for more than just tea and catch-up. There's something on his mind.

Once the whisky's in his hand, he comes out with it.

"I saw Steven."

Cheryl releases a shaky breath.

"Oh." She answers simply.

"Oh?"  
"How did you find him?"

"That doesn't matter." Brendan snaps, the anger in him rising again, "Did you know where he lives?"

"No, I didn't."

"Why not? You should see 'im, Chez; he's a state."

Cheryl winces. She doesn't seem all that _surprised. _Only upset that Brendan has found out. Brendan's disappointment tugs hard at his gut. Why wasn't she looking after him? They were best friends, weren't they? They'd cuddled up on the sofa, and laughed goofily at Brendan and poked fun at him together. They'd been close – almost like brother and sister themselves. How had Cheryl let this happen to him?

"I lost touch with him, Brendan." She says quietly, as though afraid of provoking his rage.

"Why?"

Cheryl shrugs limply, "I had the baby, I had… I was trying to sort things out with your lawyer, with the business."

"So?"

"He was just… he was so _angry, _Bren. When you wouldn't see him – and he blamed _me, _like it was MY fault! And I just… I'd never seen him like that; he was going off the rails, love."

"So you just let him."

"Look," Cheryl snaps, growing angry, "He's not _my _responsibility! Okay?! I can't _tell him _what to do – God knows, I tried!"

"And why didn't you _tell _me any of this when it was happening?!"

"Because! I was trying to make prison _easier _for you, not harder! I know what you're like; you'd have only wanted to get out of there, and you wouldn't have been able to, and you'd have driven _yourself _crazy as well."

"So just let Steven take the fall, yeah?" Brendan seethes.

"Don't say it like that!" Cheryl has tears faintly growing in her eyes.

"He's living in a crack-den, before you bother asking."

Brendan feels his heart hitting hard against his ribcage as those images swarm and haunt his mind all over again; the bruising on the inside of Steven's arm, the hollow eyes, skinny frame, angry words, hateful eyes. Eyes that Brendan recognises and feels; eyes that reflect loathing of the entire world, and blame for everybody in it. Brendan's felt that way before. It's relentless, painful, absorbing revulsion; all-consuming. He never wanted that for Steven.

"I didn't know." Cheryl whispers shakily.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Couple of years ago."

"_Couple of…" _Brendan splutters, hardly able to believe his own sister would be so quick to ditch Steven when the going got tough.

"Yeah, when he told me he never wanted to see me again." She says plainly. "And I was seven months pregnant, and he was driving me half insane. You'd understand Brendan – if you'd seen him. I had to think of my family; let him make his own mistakes."

"Yeah, and he sure did that."

"Well maybe he did. But I did everything I could."

Brendan scoffs. Yeah right.

"Ye always were a selfish cow, Cheryl." He says lowly, before he can stop himself.

He doesn't mean it, of course. He doesn't mean to be so cruel; stoop so low. He'd never want to hurt his sister, but right now he does – because right now ALL he can feel is pain and hurt for his boy; for the lad he loves. The lad he's lost to the dank, dark, pitiless world of the broken. A shell of his former self. Maybe gone forever.

It's like a throbbing tear in his gut, and he can't bear it.

But worst of all is that he _knows _this isn't really Cheryl's fault. And so does she.

"Well maybe if YOU'D not ABANDONED him!" She suddenly cries defensively, "Maybe if you'd given him a break! Maybe if you'd TRUSTED him when he said he wanted to still be with you – then NONE of this would have happened!"

She's on her feet now, pacing. Those months of watching Ste helplessly call the prison, to no avail. Watching him crumble and burn as a result. The pain of seeing that is spilling out of her now.

"You have the nerve to call ME selfish, Brendan Brady! When you wouldn't let him see you all those months, only because that would have made it more painful for YOU!"

"That's not what it was." Brendan mumbles, shame piercing him.

"No?! Well whatever your stupid reason, it doesn't matter. It killed him, Brendan. And whatever he did after that – it is YOUR fault. YOU who made him feel worthless."

She's deadly sincere when she breathes, "Ste DESPISES you, Brendan. Believe you me - he does."

XOXOXOX

Brendan's at a loss. He wants to return to that council flat; construct a second attempt to free Steven from the lifestyle he's become rooted in. But that would do no good, and he knows it.

_Ste despises you Brendan. Believe you me, he does._

His brain aches with all the questions he has.

Does Steven _love _that brute? _Andy_? That violent, insufferable thug; that waste of space? It shouldn't surprise Brendan as much as it does… after all, Brendan was violent and awful too and Steven had kept coming back for more. Perhaps he gets off on it… the power and dominance. The fear.

But no… that can't be right. It was the fear that drove Ste _away _from Brendan, not towards. And while Steven's undoubtedly changed… it seems too much to assume he would walk back into another violent relationship after what he and Brendan went through. Perhaps Andy doesn't hurt him at all. Perhaps he only hurts other people… and why _should _Steven care, since he didn't much care that Brendan owned guns, did he?

Or perhaps his and Andy's relationship is relatively new. Perhaps Steven was planning on leaving the old twat anyway… until Brendan came along. It wouldn't be the first time Steven's fear of falling back into Brendan's arms has sent him cowering persistently into the arms of another man. For him it's protection from the dauntingness of his real emotions.

_Ste despises you Brendan. Believe you me, he does. _

Or maybe Brendan has to face the cold hard fact that none of this has anything to do with him anymore.

XOXOXOX

He'd been planning to hold off… at least for a little while. He assumed it would do no good sauntering round there again, and perhaps a week of distance would make Steven miss him in some way. They've worked in similar methods before. At least… old Steven did.

He honestly _wasn't _expecting to find Steven here tonight. Sure, this bar is closer to Steven's place than it is to his… and it's dog rough and certainly not the _typical _establishment Brendan would choose to visit. So perhaps on some sub-conscious level he's sat alone at this bar with some kind of intention to be closer to Steven. But he hadn't expected for him to show up here. That, as far as he's concerned, is just a twist of fate.

Steven doesn't think so.

"What the FUCK are you doin' here?!" He cries, outraged.

His voice is slurred. He seems uneasy on his feet. His pupils are unmistakably dilated. He holds a bottle of beer, and his fingers are going pale with how hard he clenches onto it. Perhaps he's imagining that it's Brendan's neck.

Brendan resolves to remain calm.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing, Steven."

"What – stalkin' me now, are ya?"

"No."

"Well you need to get out; me mates are gonna be here in a minute." Steven's voice seems thick and too loud, like he's lost perception somewhat. "An' they'll kick your head in if they find ya here."

"_Your _mates, are they? They didn't look like _your _mates."

Brendan's playing old games here; winding Steven up just because the boy can't resist his back-chat, and it guarantees conversation at least, no matter how awful.

True enough to form, Steven just can't walk away.

"And what would _you _know about it?" He bites.

"I know _you_."

Steven laughs at that. It's hard and bitter at first, but it softens - only enough so that someone like Brendan would notice. Perhaps it softens into a touch of sadness, or perhaps that's just wishful thinking. Either way, it resembles something of the old Steven… the one who was tough but sensitive, indiscreet but caring, endearingly shameless but shy and self-conscious at times.

In this moment their eyes meet.

And Brendan _knows _– knows rather than wishes – that there's electricity there.

There's so much still between them, hanging heavily in the atmosphere. Because of course, theirs is not a relationship that gradually fizzled out. Theirs was not a marriage that grew tiresome, or even an end-of-tether break-up that was messy and exhausting. In fact, the last time Brendan saw Steven before all this, they were at the prime of their relationship. They were in love; passionately, recklessly, unconditionally. Their relationship was solid and trusting… and seemingly everlasting.

"Let me get you out of here." Brendan hears himself saying.

But Steven snaps out of it.

"You what?!" He cries, "My God. You seriously think I'm gonna fuck you, don't ya?!"

Brendan blinks; taken aback by that. Where did that even _come _from?!

"If I thought that, you'd know it."

"You're unbelievable."

"Thank you." Brendan jokes half-heartedly. But he doesn't really have it in him. Steven's behaving erratically. His body is rocking, and not even subtly. He's making Brendan dizzy, making his stomach twist uncomfortably with his concern.

"Steven," He says seriously, "What have you taken?"

"Nothing."

But Steven's not even looking at him now; his eyes are fixed into the distance, concentrating, like he's working hard at keeping himself upright or not puking. Brendan's seen it all before on old wasters in his darker days. But it doesn't suit Steven, and Brendan will never be convinced that he's equipped to deal with it.

"Are you here on your own?" Brendan asks.

"Yeah."

"Let me walk you home, at least."

"No." Steven snaps. And then explains, quieter, "I can't go there yet."

"Then let me take ye for some food. I'll get you a burger."

"I don't want anythin' from you, Brendan! Stop harrasin' me!"

But he sounds more panicked than angry. So when he turns and moves away from Brendan, Brendan follows him. He follows him into the hot centre of the dance floor, where figures blur and dance all around them. Steven is becoming more and more alarmed. He starts looking around, his body physically spinning as he scans the dance-floor for something… or someone…

"Steven…" Brendan reaches out for him.

"GET OFF!"

"I wanna HELP you, Steven!"

"YOU DON'T GET TO!"

"What are you lookin' for?!"

"The…" sweat plasters across Steven's forehead, and Brendan can see that he's shaking a bit… his breathing is intense and fast. He's seriously panicking, and the urge to help him is overwhelming.

"C'mon speak to me!" He shouts urgently.

"The bathroom." Steven croaks.

Brendan seizes him by the shoulders and physically pushes him through the crowds, guiding him all the way to the clearly labelled mens-room.

In here is even worse than the bar, which Brendan wouldn't have thought was possible. The sound of a womans heated gasps comes from inside one of the cubicles, and a mans grunts to accompany; not an ounce of shame or subtlety between them.

Ste, recognising his surroundings now, pushes his way into a cubicle forcefully. The door swings shut behind him but he doesn't lock it.

Brendan leans back against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, momentarily careless that it might stain his suit. He allows the condensation to soak into the hair at the back of his head, calm him slightly. It is an act of great naivety that he believes Steven to be being sick. Naivety or short-term-memory loss, because for one blissful moment it's like they're together again, back in an old time, and Steven's just drunk. He'll puke his guts up and then moan pitifully that he wants Brendan to take him home. Brendan will drop him into bed with an exasperated groan and then have to listen to Steven's goofy ungraceful snorts of laughter and rabbiting on for another couple of hours. Brendan will indulge him until he falls asleep, and then Steven will wake up the next morning acting like it's Brendan's fault he's got a hangover.

A smile twitches ever so slightly on his lips as he imagines this.

But there are no sounds of Steven being sick coming from that cubicle at all.

Brendan crashes the door open so fast that it SLAMS hard and cracks against the wall of the adjacent cubicle.

"The FUCK are you doing?!" He cries, outraged.

Steven's eyes are watery and ever so slightly bloodshot; the direct impact of something being snorted off the dirty back of the toilet seat. In his left hand is a blue weird-shaped pill.

"GIVE ME THAT!" Brendan rages.

Steven resists with a furious growl of restraint as Brendan tries to prise the pill from his sweaty fingers.

"Ye need more of this shit, REALLY?!" Brendan fumes, "Look at ye – you're fucked-up enough already!"

"GET. OFF!"

With a sweaty pop, Brendan releases the pill from Steven's hand and tosses it resolutely into the toilet.

Steven looks down at it for a silent second, and at least shows enough restraint not to go diving in after it, like Brendan momentarily feared.

But then Steven's face forms a smirk and he announces, "I already took one anyway."

His words barely make sense; they're so slurred and intoxicated.

He pushes past Brendan, making sure to bang their shoulders against each other with poignant ferocity as he does so. He's half way out of the mens-room, when Brendan's animalistic, raw reaction takes over.

He's had enough. He's not putting up with this shit. Cheryl may have been happy enough to stand back and let Steven do this to himself, but Brendan sure as hell isn't just going to watch it happen before him.

Steven gives a scream of genuine-sounding panic when Brendan seizes him round the shoulders, physically dragging him back into the cubicle.

"GET OFF BRENDAN!"

Brendan is a tunnel of raw rage, regret, shame, sadness. He just wants to save him, and he's at a loss to do so with words. He has Steven hunched over the toilet in an instant. He's driven by mad emotion as he forces two of his own fingers down the back of Steven's throat, holds him still while he gags and struggles, rocks him while he throws up violently into the toilet below him.

Steven chokes back on tears and anger and his own bile. He tries to resist Brendan's arms, tries to break free, but Brendan won't let him. Not until every bit of toxic waste is OUT of the boys precious young body.

"I gotta do this Steven," his voice comes out shakily, apologetic. He tries to block out the sound of Steven's dry-sobs, pushes his fingers back down his throat, forces him to vomit intensely all over again.

He's taken aback by how much smaller Steven's body is. He was always slim, but now with his arms wrapped tight around Steven's chest, he can feel every corner of every bone. It's alarming. He nuzzles his nose into the back of Steven's neck on instinct, and emits gentle 'shhhhh's, in response to Steven's strained, distraught noises.

"One more time, I promise." He sighs as reassuringly as possible, and though it hurts him to have to do it, he forces his fingers back down Steven's throat.

Steven's body judders as he tries to restrain, but finally the last of what's left inside of him comes up, and turns to a pitiful dry-heave into the basin below that seems to be ever-lasting; mixed with cries of pain and humiliation, anger and upset.

Once Brendan's sure that that's everything, he releases the struggling body in his arms.

They both fall back into the walls of the cubicle.

Steven is pale and his body is trembling. Tears lace his eyelashes as he breathes through his shock and begins to come to terms with what Brendan has just done to him.

Brendan is exhausted, panting. His fingers are covered in Steven's vomit, but he just wipes them on his own trousers, unable to take his careful eyes off the figure before him.

He expects a shit-storm. He expects Steven to scream and yell and fight and swear.

But he doesn't.

And perhaps that's even more concerning.

Since when would he have accepted such a shameless display of physical control?

"I'm sorry." Brendan breathes out again.

Steven just sniffs miserably, his chin against his chest. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and in a small barely-audible voice, he whispers, "I wanna go home."

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay. C'mon."

Brendan stands and holds a hand out for him.

He doesn't really want to take Steven back to that place. Knows that if he does, Steven will just find the same pills Brendan rid his body of. But he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Right now he's just going to make the most of Steven's compliance, however unsettling it might be.

Steven doesn't use Brendan's help, and instead struggles to pull himself onto shaky feet.

He is silent as he leaves the bathroom, and Brendan follows close behind him. He is silent as he moves through the club, silent as he slides back to the bar where his coat is still draped over the bar-stool. Silent, blank, un-emotive. So very unlike Steven Hay.

Brendan can't help but touch his back tenderly, hoping that his touch transmits some kind of care or help or _anything._

But Steven only shakes him off.

Brendan draws a low sigh and prepares to follow Steven in similar stone silence towards the door of the bar.

But just before they get there, the door bursts open and some thug-like figures walk in. A mix of muscular and drug-induced skin-and-bone. There's about five of them, all sticking together like some god-forsaken school gang. Brendan only vaguely recognises them from his encounter with their fists and steel boots – the perpetrators of his black eyes and bruises.

The sight of them immediately stirs Steven from his stupor. He jumps in alarm, concealing himself behind Brendan's back. Brendan feels Steven's fingers fumbling feebly with the material of Brendan's blazer as he hides back there.

Brendan edges backwards, concealing the two of them further amongst the crowds. Because clearly Steven doesn't want to be seen by these guys, and whilst Brendan is determined to find out _why_, he knows now is not the time for a scene.

"I can't go home." Steven's voice sounds from behind him, shaky and croaked. And Brendan knows he's only talking because he's _desperate. _

"It's okay." He responds steadily, "We can go back to Cheryl's."

He can sense Steven's reluctance, but also sense there's not much he can do about it.

Steven's fingers don't un-grip from his suit until they are safely outside and away from the club.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm all snowed in, so some time was freed up to bring you ANOTHER update. A record, me thinks. **

**XOXOXO**

"_Brendan, I am raising a FAMILY here, okay, you can't just bring him back to the house like this – look at the state of him!"_

Ste's head pounds. His eyes are solidified shut by sleep and crusted tears. He knows immediately – can sense in the smell and feel of the place – that he's not at home. Christ… where the fuck is he?

"_He's not well, Chez."_

Those voices are gut-wrenchingly familiar. Sickeningly so. They sound like another time, another place, another world. He feels like in he's in a dream of some kind – one that is vast and disturbingly authentic. And he might believe that to be the case if his body didn't ache with the need for a fix. How long has he been here, like this?

"_Brendan, you need to let go. Okay? I told you yesterday – you don't want to be getting involved in all this; not now."_

"_It's STEVEN, Chez, what do you expect me to do?!"_

"_I am __warning__ you. You are only going to get hurt. You have to trust me, okay?! …There's things you don't know."_

Ste prises his eyes open… looks around to find himself in a living room of some sort – but not one that he recognises. It's big. He's surrounded by fluffy cushions and rugs and garish throws and a large overbearing vase of flowers on the coffee table… an overwhelming smell to accompany. There is a blanket covering him; tantalisingly warm and soft. The smell of coffee wafts from the adjacent kitchen – a conservatory conversion. The sun spills blindingly in through the windows.

His body feels unnaturally warm, and tossing aside the blanket he doesn't recognise the clothes that he's wearing. He's in a large orange jumper which swamps his body with it's fine cotton material. He's in only his boxers underneath.

Fuck. What the fuck has he done? Where the fuck are his clothes? He needs to get out of here.

"Mornin'." The gruff Irish voice interrupts his panic.

Ste turns… and it's surreal how casually Brendan holds himself. Everything about his early-morning image is vastly familiar… the bed- hair, the chest-hair that pokes over the top of his vest, his sleepy eyes….. as if it never went away. He holds out a mug of coffee and Ste feels himself take it.

"How ye feelin'?" Brendan asks him.

"Shit." Ste croaks back. It's a wonder Brendan hears him because he can hardly find his voice… it comes out more of a rasp. Still, Brendan nods as if he's registered it.

"I'm not surprised."

"Where are my clothes?"

"In the wash." Brendan grunts, "You were pretty sick last night."

Ste could have figured that out for himself; his own tongue tastes disgusting. That doesn't explain why he's _here _though… why he's with Brendan. And Brendan acting so casual, as if this is perfectly normal. As if the last three years have been a dream, and they never parted at all.

"I need 'em." Ste says firmly, "I have to go home."

"S'alright; you can keep that jumper – it's Nate's."

"I can't just go back in another blokes clothes!" Ste snaps. But actually, upon reconsideration, he doesn't give a shit. He just needs to get back. He needs a fix, and he needs to remove himself from this piece-of-shit situation as soon as possible.

As if reading his mind, Brendan passes him a pair of jogging bottoms from the ironing pile.

"Don't look." Ste says, as he shoves back the blanket.

The last thing he needs is Brendan's eyes all over him. The last thing he needs is for him to make some suggestive comment, or worse, question Ste's decision to slice those cuts into his thighs. Not that it's any of Brendan's god damn fucking business – but he must _think _it is, or he wouldn't have bought Ste back here at all, would he?

Ste shoves the joggers over himself as quickly as possible, whilst Brendan looks obediently in the other direction. The waistband is far too big, but whatever – he can hold it.

The world rocks a bit as he lifts himself off the sofa, but he does his best not to let it show. He looks around for his keys and wallet… he can't see them. Fuck sake.

"Brendan where's…"

"Heyyyyy, little man!" Brendan suddenly coos, in a voice that is unnaturally sweet on him… the kind of voice he used on occasion to talk to Lucas.

Ste winces. He doesn't want to think about that.

"Hey, come and meet Steven!" Brendan says.

Turning for the first time, Ste sees who he is addressing. There is a child here. A boy. He crawls on the floor, and he has maddeningly blue eyes – big, wide and trustful. His wisps of hair are dark and curly… his lips forming a smile that is nothing short of completely happy. Unaffected and unashamed and unafraid.

And Brendan lifts him into the air, and to Ste's horror… holds him out for Ste to hold.

"No." Ste croaks, again to find his voice has practically gone.

"C'mon," Brendan says, "It's my nephew, Connor. He likes meetin' people; he's like his ma."

Brendan continues to hold him out. What does he WANT exactly?! He wants Ste to hold this fucking kid? Probably drop him on his head, because he's shaking so much? Or scare him half to death because he's unfocussed and can't see straight and can't smile proper?

No one in their right mind would entrust Ste with their kids these days. They certainly don't trust him with his own.

But then Brendan never was in his right mind, was he?

"Brendan, fuck off!" Ste hisses furiously.

"C'mon Steven," Brendan sighs. And he sounds genuinely sad. It's not even fucking pity – it's just plain simple _sadness _and Ste can't _bear _it. Who the fuck does he think he is?!

"Look! I shouldn't of come here, alright?!" Ste says in his strongest voice, forcing himself not to shake or waver because he doesn't want Brendan to look at him like he's some sort of tragedy. "I was fucked."

"Yeah," Brendan's eyes darken, "I know you were."

"I gotta go home – can you give me my wallet?"

"Let me get you some breakfast first, at least." Brendan puts the child on the ground again, thank God.

"No, Andy's gonna kill me."

"What – he gets to decide when ye come home, does he?! What is he, your Dad?!"

"No – he's my BOYFRIEND!" Ste cries, incredulous. "And I've just spent the night with some other bloke!"

Brendan's expression shifts. There's a flash… just a quick one… of hurt. Ste wants to laugh; wants to mock him for seeing himself as anything more than 'some other bloke'; after all these years of nothing, what did he expect?! But to his surprise, Brendan's upset – however momentary – stirs something in him. Regret. Sadness. An urge to correct his words, to fix the damage he just caused.

Even after everything, he feels an impulse to rush to Brendan's side; to soothe and aid.

He's so fucking weak.

And it's all Brendan's fault.

And this is a trap he will continue to fall into again and again, unless he pulls himself together.

"I'm going home." He repeats simply.

He doesn't care about his wallet anyway; fuck it, there's nothing in there worth keeping.

"You're skin and bone Steven – ye need fattenin' up. One burger – then I leave you alone."

"No."

"Tough. I'm not takin' no for an answer."

Ste turns furiously, only to find Brendan waving his own keys in his face.

The bastard. The sick, controlling, sadistic bastard. He hasn't changed at all, has he? His stint in prison – getting beat up, being on his best behaviour in order to get out early… it's all amounted to nothing.

"Give me them."

"Not until I can get ye some breakfast." Brendan says, and then adds in a silky almost-seductive-sounding whisper, "_Indulge me._"

XOXOXOX

He's in no mood to eat; has no appetite whatsoever. And yet here he stands now with a huge greasy burger dripping in his hands, plus extra fries and chicken nuggets and milkshake and mcflurry – none of which he asked for, but this is Brendan Brady after all; a man who thinks he can _buy_ affection and forgiveness.

He nibbles cautiously around the edge of the burger, hoping the effort will be noticed by his ex, and he'll be rewarded with getting his keys back.

Brendan pretends not to be paying any attention to him whatsoever though. He absorbs himself in his own meal; wolfing down his double-sized burger like it's his last meal, crumbs flying everywhere and hanging from his moustache. Ste looks away pointedly.

"Animal." He mutters. It's supposed to come out harsh and dismissive, but Brendan only sniggers like they've shared a joke of some sort.

Ste feels a little sick now, so folds the rest of the burger into the wrapping.

"You not gonna eat that?" Brendan asks. The concern is back in his voice again.

"I'm savin' it for when I get home."

"Uh-huh. You can go back home now, then?"

Ste frowns. Obviously. "Urr…yeah?"

"Only yesterday you said you couldn't. Seemed like ye didn't wanna go back."

Ste swallows. He doesn't know how much he said to Brendan last night, but he trusts himself that he didn't go off on one. Not to _him. _He wouldn't give Brendan the satisfaction. He could never _ever _be _that _fucked.

"That's cos the heating's out at ours." He lies.

"Mm-hm. Need some money to fix it?"

"No."  
"No? Cos it seems like ye don't have a lot."

Ste rolls his eyes. He wants to leave, right now, but that food's done funny stuff to his digestive system and he's scared he'll be sick if he stands too fast. And he refuses to do that in front of Brendan again.

"So," Brendan continues, "Ye not gonna tell me what happened to all that cash I left ye? Before prison? I left ye with more than enough to keep you safe – what happened to it?"

"What's it matter to you?" Ste mumbles, "If you cared _that _much you'd have checked up on it at the time."

"I'm just curious."

Ste shrugs dismissively. Two more seconds of deep breaths, and then he trusts himself to stand.

Brendan sighs, "I take it ye used it as drug-money then?"

"Oh, you know what?! You don't know ANYTHING!"

"No, I don't! So tell me!"

"NO!" Ste cries. "It's NONE of your business! You decided that three years ago – so STICK TO IT."

"Steven wait…"

Ste doesn't even realise that he's walking away until he's half-way down the street. He can barely even register his own movements; can only hear the dull thud in his head and the itch in his skin that craves some sort of injection or pill or liquid or _anything. _Anything at this point to make it all stop, because he's been awake and alert for too long now.

The world is warping around him – the cars becoming nothing but a blurred mass of colours and Brendan's voice an irritant that fades and distorts in and out of his consciousness.

He's making Ste claustrophobic. Following him like a disease he can't get rid of… like a persistent ache that won't go away. Ste's heart-rate increases as his mind takes in the fact that he _can't _escape, that Brendan is _trapping _him, _looming _on him. He's catching up and Ste can hear his footsteps and there's nothing he can do to make it stop.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" He screams out in panic, and on an impulse throws the bag of food at his pursuer.

He spins on his heel, JUST catching a glimpse of his mcflurry and burger-juice spilling all over Brendan… all down his suit.

"Oh right, okay!" Brendan leers. There's anger in his voice but he's trying to suppress it, "Okay, NOW it feels like old times!"

But it doesn't.

It doesn't feel a _bit_ like old times, and Brendan doesn't realise that he's like the _poltergeist_ of olden times; taunting Ste with what he'll never ever ever get back. A time when he'd have chewed his burger happily, revelled in the 'wonderfulness' of his tempestuous relationship with his scumbag lover. A time when going 'home' would have been going back to two kids, and his arms and legs weren't creeping with cuts and bruises. A time when he was naïve and trusting and every second on the verge of having that carpet tugged unwittingly from under him… never stopping to suspect it was all too good to be true.

Brendan being here is fucking with his head, and he doesn't need that. He just needs to be numb. Why doesn't Brendan see that?

"STEVEN!" The voice echoes through his head. It's not angry now, nor seductive or taunting or concerned or casual. It's afraid. Really afraid. Like maybe now Brendan is realising too how fragile everything is – how quickly it can all break. "STEVEN!"

It takes Ste a long time to realise he's on the ground. Brendan is now standing _over_ him instead of _next _to him … he's really, really, really high above him. . The frozen pavement is against Ste's lower back, where the orange jumper has ridden up.

Orange is too bright a colour on him, he notes dully… it's too bright against the paleness of his hands.

He holds his hands up – inspecting them with numb wonder.

They're grazed and bloody. There's dirt all in the graze, like when you're a kid and you fall over. How did that happen?

"Steven…"

That voice is still there… distant. All Ste can see is his own hand though, and how that graze grows and shrinks; tricking him so he can't tell how big it really is in reality. It feels like it's burning him though. Like it's bubbling. Like it's carving itself into his skin. Like it's bleeding all over him. Like it's infected and killing him, and this is when he dies.

"Ow…" he mumbles groggily, and with his left hand he tries to scratch the graze off himself. That only feels like he's clawing at his own insides. "OWWW! Ahh! Help!"

He panics. He tries everything – scratching, pushing, picking, tugging – anything to get that grotesque infection off of him.

The terror rises into his mouth and eyes and seeps out of him in strangled noises and watery vessels.

"Get off GET OFF _GET OFF!_"

"STEVEN! Steven! It's just a graze! Hey! Leave it!"

"GET IT OFF ME!"

"STEVEN – _STOP_!"

Brendan's hand clasps around his own, and the blood disappears beneath it. The hand feels warm and protective around his skin.

This is his trap though, isn't it? Brendan makes Ste feel safe, so that Ste never knows the danger is coming.

But despite knowing this, he can't help but feel calmed by it. He _wants _to feel safe – just now, just for a minute. Cos safe is nice, and he hasn't felt it for ages.

When his head lands exhaustedly against Brendan's shoulder, the leather of his jacket feels warm against Ste's cheek. Brendan's hands feel soft in his hair. His finger feels light and gentle on the back of his neck, as it trails up and down; piercing Ste with a sense of vivid nostalgia.

"Animal." He says again, only this time without any reason or motivation… just because he feels he should, because it made Brendan laugh before.

He doesn't get a laugh this time though. Christ, Ste's getting it all wrong. Maybe he doesn't remember Brendan right at all.

"Stop it." Brendan said after a moment. He sounds exhausted.

"What?"

"You're all over the place, Steven. Just… just stop it."

Ste still doesn't get what he's supposed to stop exactly… he's only _sitting_ here for Gods sake.

"Let me take you back to Cheryl's." Brendan says, "Please."

"No."

Ste immediately releases himself from Brendan's arms. He doesn't want this – he only wants a _second_ of warm safety… just to venture into that dreamlike state for a tiny bit. He doesn't want Brendan thinking he has rights to him; he doesn't.

Ste makes to stand, and he's not wobbly on his feet anymore. In fact everything's blazingly clear – and the bright orange jumper is even brighter than before. Quite nice, actually… but Ste doesn't want his charity.

"I'll bring the jumper back tomorrow." He says firmly. And then, for what feels like the thousandth time – "I'm going home."

This time, Brendan doesn't try to stop him.

XOXOXOXOX

"_Ste… love… can I talk to you a second?"_

"_Mm-hm." Ste lies flat on his side across Cheryl's sofa, staring into the shut-off television set. It's been 28 days. 28 days since Brendan left him. 28 days of trying to reach him, calling the prison, requesting visiting rights… and being shot down time after time after time._

"_Is everything okay?" Cheryl's voice is soft with concern._

"_Mm." Ste mumbles. He doesn't really have the energy right now for any other reaction._

"_I've just been on your phone. I've been on your sent calls." She takes a deep breath; bracing herself, "Sweetheart, you understand that Brendan doesn't have his phone in prison, don't you?"_

"_Yeah." A half-hearted grunt, barely audible._

"_There are… hundreds… of sent calls to him on here. Were you… what were you hoping to achieve from this?"_

_Ste suddenly breaks out of his stupor, and Cheryl jumps as he snatches the phone furiously from her hands. His head is awash with panic as the realisation of what Cheryl has seen overcomes him. Not just his phonecalls to Brendan; proof of how weak his is, how insanely desperate. But the other phonecalls too… the ones that will guarantee she never EVER forgives him…_

The door slams open and shut, and Ste jumps out of his daze.

When Andy walks in, Ste still feels shaken; reeling from the memory he's long since shut away. All those days… all those hazy days back when he crashed and burned have been locked undisturbed in his mind all this time. Why does he have to remember them now? How can it all come swarming back… haunting him like this? It's only a matter of time before he's forced to relive something drastic, and then what? Then the repercussions of Brendan destroy Ste all over again.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Andy asks him, forcing Ste to remember he has another tricky situation to deal with at present… and he doesn't want a row with Andy tonight.

"Oh… oh, I were proper wasted last night, me." Ste gives a convincing chuckle, "Fell asleep on the bus."

"Mm." Andy chucks his cigarette to the floor, burning a hole in the carpet. "Sure you did."

He doesn't sound convinced. Nor does he sound too bothered about it, which means perhaps he's got Ste's redemption already planned in his head. Whatever; it's better than having an argument. Ste only hopes that it doesn't involve Andy's mates in any way; not as participants or audience. He's spent nights before with his head between Andy's legs… Andy and his friends continuing their heckling banter throughout. Even being wasted out of his mind doesn't ease that sort of embarrassment.

"I got ya a Burger King." He says sheepishly, and nods the remains of the fast food… the bits of it that didn't end up all over Brendan's suit or the ground.

"You mean you got it with _my _money." Andy reminds him, before tossing the remains of it in the bin. Perhaps he's more pissed-off than Ste first reckoned. Perhaps there will be an argument after all, because Ste's had quite enough of taking peoples shit for one day and he can already feel the anger bubbling away inside of him – merging with the stress of barely-suppressed memories and ex-boyfriends.

To his pleasant surprise though, Andy pulls him in for a deep kiss.

"I'm not hungry." His voice is low and suggestive.

Ste presents a wide sheepish grin, "Me neither."

He kisses back, harder. Andy backs him into the wall and starts pulling the orange jumper off of Ste's body. He barely even notices that he's never seen it before.

This is what Ste needs. Contact. Closeness. Pleasure. The consistency of Andy Fischer; whose been the same since Ste first met him – never changes, never leaves, never contradicts or complicates. Their love for each other is simple; it's made up of compatibility and sex. It doesn't mess with Ste's head or his mind; it doesn't fuck him up.

Andy turns him around, pushes him over the arm of the sofa. The joggers are tugged from around him, the boxers yanked off, and Andy's pushing inside him almost immediately. Ste grits his teeth; emerges himself in the mix of pleasure and pain and rough raw contact.

When his mind starts to wonder to Brendan, breaking down carefully-built barriers that have been standing for years, he simply pushes his nails hard into the skin of his wrist until blood trickles into his fingernails. He listens precisely to Andy's ragged breaths and grunts… so distinctly different to the way Brendan used to sound. He lets the voice hum through his brain, remind him who he's with and why. Remind him this is _now _and not _then. _When the blood stops running he pushes his nails in again, generating more pain, which he'll later numb out with a generous line of coke.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry, but this chapter is so angsty. I promise it's all heading somewhere though. Your investment is not going to go un-serviced!**

**XOXOXOX**

Flat hunting is a dull, bleak, draining experience. Every place Brendan steps into feels soulless and empty, and he can't help but compare it to how he was living _before _he got tossed behind bars. Back when he had his flat that was filled with life; when he'd wake up beside Steven's beaming face, enter the kitchen to Cheryl's morning-chirpiness and Leah and Lucas giggling in front of the television.

These places don't even lend themselves to the _fantasy _that he could have that again. They're stale and sparse, and Brendan knows he'll never muster the energy to decorate them. He'll never stub his foot on a stray piece of lego, curse furiously and then spend the next half-hour apologising for it. This place will be the roof that keeps him dry, the bed that keeps him awake, and the door he'll shove men in and out of when he's feeling particularly lonely; desperate for any piece of momentary human contact.

He feels that now.

He's frustrated. Steven never returned that fucking jumper, but Brendan so wants to see him again. He misses the fucker like mad. He's missed him for three years, only now the sensation is mixed with the constant ache of anguish and regret and blame. In the dead of night, left with nothing but his thoughts and wonderings, his outlook wavers back and forth from devastated to furious. He can't sleep for knowing what the lad is doing to himself.

And _STILL_ it doesn't make sense. Sure, Steven was raised in a setting for the scum of the earth, but he was a high-riser… he was strong-willed and ambitious. It's baffling and it hurts Brendan's brain to even _imagine _how he landed a life like this. How nobody stopped him… not Cheryl, or Tony, or Amy, or Doug, or _anyone… _how did they stand by and let this happen?! He needs answers so badly, but every person he asks closes in on themselves, shutting down with guilt and shame but no clues or solutions to offer him.

"Douglas," He speaks with dead calamity into the phone, "I want to see ye. Now."

XOXOXOX

Douglas already knows what this meeting is about, but he doesn't cut to the chase. It seems he has questions for Brendan too.

"How was life behind bars?" He says with a smugness that makes Brendan's fist curl.

Brendan wants to punch the fucker. Actually he wants to strangle him; crush him to a pulp. Because Brendan trusted – and it's no mean feat for him to explicitly trust – but he _trusted _Douglas to not let anything happen to Steven. Not because he'd threatened him, or even discussed it with him at all. But because Douglas has a warped commitment to Steven that only Brendan can understand. Douglas loves him. At least… he's supposed to love him. And whilst Brendan might not be a _fan _of that fact exactly… it's a fact that allowed him to sleep at night whilst he was behind bars, because he had been _damn sure _that Steven had those that were looking out for him. Unconditionally caring for him, when Brendan couldn't do it himself. Through their mutual hatred for one other, Brendan and Douglas had a reluctant respect for each other due to that exact fact.

But Brendan had evidently been wrong.

"You've got a lot to answer for, Douglas." He seethes.

"Yeah, really?" Douglas's tone is cutting and sarcastic, but it's a bravado Brendan can easily crush. "I suppose this is because you've _just _started paying attention to Ste again, right? Not the same pretty face you left behind? What, once your spell in prison ended, you got bored and wanted him back again – am I right?!"

Brendan doesn't need this shit from him.

"_Why _didn't ye help him?!"

"I tried."

Why do people keep saying that?!

"Not hard enough."

"You messed him up, Brendan." Douglas sighs, "Just like everybody knew you would. Just like _you _knew you would – but you went out with him anyway."

"_Shut the fuck up." _He hisses fiercely.

"And by the time you were done with him, he couldn't even _see _anybody else, he couldn't even _hear _us. But you can run round blaming all of us if it makes you feel better."

Brendan's rattled. Doug's right – of course he is – but that doesn't change the fact that he too abandoned Steven somewhere along the line. And now here he is; radiating self-satisfaction at having the upper hand, when he has no right to radiate anything of the sort.

"You're lovin' this, ain't ye?"

"Not really." Doug shakes his head, "I just knew you'd turn up here one day. You're stuck in the past, while everybody else has moved on with their lives."

"Well bully for you." Brendan drawls.

"Even Simon Walker moved on faster than you did."

It's this comment that stirs something in Brendan. Something that surpasses the frustration or anger or fury that currently absorbs his every move. _Simon Walker. _The man who started all of this… the man who planted the evidence… ripped Brendan away from Steven with a vindictive smile and cold eyes, and a crazy laugh that ripped out of him RIGHT in Brendan's face.

The one saving grace is that Simon Walker had killed himself right after his pièce de résistance. He planted the evidence. Ensured that Brendan couldn't escape the police chase. And then he threw himself off the nearest building. Brendan knew that… because he'd seen it happen. Walker _made sure _he saw it.

So what the hell did Douglas mean when he said he'd _moved on_?

"You don't know anything about Simon Walker." Brendan says carefully.

To which Douglas laughs in callous disbelief.

"I don't believe it." He cries, "Nobody told you?!"

Brendan's heart hammers, his throat closes and he feels slightly like he's suffocating.

"What?" He breathes.

"The real reason Ste is so fucked up?"

"What?" Brendan croaks again, and his head is spinning. What the fuck is Douglas talking about?! Steven's fucked up… cos of something to do with Walker? How? No… it can't possibly be the case; the image of Walker falling from that building is still so raw in his head, in his nightmares every night. There's no way Steven could have even _known _about any about it; so careful Brendan was to separate him from it all. Walker was six-feet-under before Steven even _heard _that Brendan wasn't coming home.

"Shit," Douglas laughs – but he seems more uneasy and nervous now. His smugness has escaped him and he's looking at Brendan with… is that _pity_?!

"Tell me what the FUCK you're talking about, Douglas, I'm serious."

"I…" Douglas stutters, bravado truly gone. "Look… I don't think this is a conversation you should be having with _me…_"

"Walker's still alive?!"

"N…no. Not anymore."

"So WHAT then?!" A thin line of sweat breaks Brendan's cold lined forehead.

"I think you need to ask Ste." Douglas says eventually. "He's the only one who'll be able to tell you the truth."

XOXOXOX

Brendan watches Steven's flat carefully for three days – observes the comings and goings of it. In any other circumstance he'd barge right up there and demand those scumbags to move aside… but now is no time to get into another fight. He needs answers. He needs a _conversation. _And he's not going to get that unless he chooses his timing right; a time when Steven's alone, and as clean and sober as Brendan can possibly get him.

His boyfriend – _Andy – _leaves the flat at 12.30pm on Tuesday. He spits out flem on his way down the stairs, ever the charmer. He's a big bloke, Brendan will give him that. And that cheap-as-fuck tracksuit probably hides the true extent of his muscles as well. Still, after three years of having nothing to do but work out, Brendan could easily take him if it comes to it.

Andy always comes back about fiveish, decidedly more unstable on his feet. On Tuesday, that's the end of it, but on Wednesday and Thursday those cronies of his go round there as well. They all start rocking up between six and nine. They don't leave. Presumably they crash on the floor… or 'pass out' more specifically.

Brendan doesn't see Steven come or go for the entire three days, except when he makes a brief appearance to toss out a bin-bag. The sight of him makes Brendan's stomach tremble as physical reminder of how much he misses him. How much he loves him, despite not understanding him at the moment.

Nothing will ever _ever _stop him loving the bugger.

Nothing will wipe his mind of the memories: Steven's breathless post-coital laugher, his eyes that are bright with luminous energy and enthusiasm. His loud excited way of answering the phone, "HIYA!", and the three kisses that he put at the end of his texts, which he always put there even when Brendan took the piss out of him for it. How he was unfailingly open with every emotion he inhibited; how he shouted when he was angry, and laughed when he was happy, and when he was sexually-satisfied he told Brendan with plain distinctive lack of shame.

"You're here for the jumper, aren't ya?"

Brendan blinks… is surprised to find himself on Steven's doorstep; so deep in his daydream he was. Like a lovestruck fool, rather than a man on a mission. And now Steven's caught him short.

"Urr…"

"I dunno where it is." Ste says bluntly. "I was gonna bring it back, but then someone must've chucked it out, sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry.

But fuck it.

"Can I talk to you?" Brendan asks.

"Bout what?"

That's better than the plain 'no' that Brendan was expecting, so he may as well push the subject a little further.

"Can I come in, Steven?"

"No."

There it is.

"I'm gaspin' for a drink." He tries.

"I ain't got any drinks."

"That's fine." Brendan smirks smugly, and holds up the 6-pack of larger he came prepared with. "It's on me."

Steven eyes up the lagers suspiciously. Brendan has a few other tricks up his sleeve as well, but it seems they may be unnecessary – his cheek has touched a soft-spot in his ex already.

"_One._" Steven says, a smirk hovering on his own lips, "You're dead lucky I'm in a good mood."

"You sure it's not me puttin' you in one?" Brendan replies casually, stepping into the flat. But behind the façade, a part of him is nervous. Steven's apparent breeziness doesn't feel right to him, and this feat being easier than he expected has thrown him somewhat.

He only saw the hallway last time he was here, but when he follows Steven into the living/kitchen area he sees that it's even _worse _in there. It stinks of cigarettes for one. The broken window by the fridge casts a freezing-cold breeze into the room. There's spilt ashtrays and crisp packet wrappers and even fucking _used condoms _sprayed across the living room carpet. There's ID's and credit cards on the coffee table; the sides of them still littered with powder.

Brendan doesn't even want to chance sitting down in a place like this. He's worn his most cheap and casual clothes accordingly… but still doesn't particularly want to contaminate his jogging bottoms with the filth of the sofa. But he must do if there's a chance he can have a proper conversation.

Steven smirks in amusement at the way Brendan perches at the edge.

"What's put you in such a good mood then?" Brendan asks, hastily starting up the small-talk.

Steven shrugs. He doesn't want to admit that the affects of his drug-intake have seen him well this morning – and that's the sole reason for his compliance. At least he's got enough dignity left not to brag about his morbid lifestyle, Brendan thinks.

"Here you go." Brendan says, and passes him a beer.

"Ta."

"Anthony not home?"

"Andy."

"Whatever."

"No he's not." Ste rolls his eyes, seeing through Brendan's jealousy immediately. Even in his state, he still has that ability to clock Brendan's true feelings. Impressive.

"Working man, is he? I didn't get that impression from him."

"What do you want, Brendan?" Ste sighs; his patience and good mood wavering.

Shit. That's put him in a corner. Brendan's plan hadn't extended to this point, partly because he hadn't expected to be let in in the first place, and partly because there are no words for what he wants. _I want you to leave here. I want you to come back to my new flat with me. I want to look after you and make you better. I want to get you clean. I want to find out where it all went wrong. I want to take back the last three years and change them. I want to undo what I did. I want to undo you._

"Just wanted a gossip." He says instead, with dry sarcasm.

Ste actually laughs. Kind of. It's more of a disdainful snort, which says 'typical', and resents Brendan's inability to be straight with him.

Fuck it. If Steven wants him to be straight, then maybe that's what Brendan will do. There's nothing to be afraid of, after all. He may have changed, but this is still Steven – the man Brendan has poured his heart out to, given everything to, sacrificed everything for. There are no secrets between them. There's not a part of Brendans body or soul or mind that Steven hasn't already touched.

So he takes a deep breath, and says with complete earnestness; "I'm worried about you, Steven. "

Ste rolls his eyes at that. "You're only worried about me when it suits _you, _Brendan."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is."

"I left you Steven, because I thought it was the best thing for _you!_" Brendan tries to explain desperately, "Because I didn't want ye to be waitin' for me for four fuckin' years. Because I thought that was selfish and I wanted ya to live your life. And I knew if I didn't let ye go, then you won't do that…"

Steven doesn't even seem to react to what Brendan's saying. All he does is gulp back faster and harder on his larger, lifting the can into the air with vast determination the more Brendan goes on.

"Look," Brendan tries, "I regret it okay?! If it's any consolation, I regret it – but how the fuck was I supposed to know this was gonna happen?! I left you money! I left you a club! You were supposed to be… you're supposed to be…"

"What?!" Ste asks.

"… Happy."

Steven spreads his arms wide apart, holding them arrogantly in the air and brandishing a large determined grin that is _fake fake fake. _

"I'm on top of the world, me." He says.

Perhaps he meansit, as well. In this moment he does. Which only makes things worse because he has _nothing _to be happy about. And Brendan _knows _Steven, and _knows _that nothing about this set-up would ever bring him true happiness. It's the drugs talking, and with his arms outstretched like that, all Brendan can see is bruises and needle-pricks.

He flinches and looks away.

"Stop it."

"What?" Ste's voice is feisty, confrontational. "What, don't ya like me like this? Am I not fit enough for you anymore, Brendan? Not up to your standards?"

"No, you're a _waste_!" Brendan bites back cruelly.

"Yeah. And I'm _still _far too good for you, Brendan Brady."

Brendan sighs. This is a waste of time. He's getting a pounding headache reminiscent of years ago, back when communicating with Steven meant being subjected to his constant bitching and defences. Back then Brendan continued to seek out those sorts of conversations, just because _anything_ was better than _nothing_. Back then he kind of _enjoyed _the back-and-forth arguments, because he was happy enough just to be near Steven.

But now there's too much at stake, and Steven firing out low-blows like this just makes the whole situation more hopeless. Brendan needs to break down those barriers, get Steven to open up. But how can he do that when he deserves everything Steven's saying to him?

"I know." He says quietly. "I know. You're right."

Steven says nothing in response, just drains the last of his larger and cracks open another can.

"I'm not here to get you back, Steven." Brendan says, "I'm only here to help. And understand, if I can."

They sit in silence for a long while after that, lost in their own thoughts and sipping from their own cans. Despite the weirdness of their surroundings, it all feels frighteningly familiar. The closeness they had is still there, somewhere, somehow. If Brendan closed his eyes and just _sensed _Steven's presence, it would be like nothing ever changed at all.

"Those things will kill ye." He says, when Steven lights up a cigarette.

"We all die eventually." Steven shrugs back in return.

"When'd you start smoking?"

"Don't really remember."

"Yeah you do." Brendan states simply. "C'mon, when? Were ye still livin' at the flat?"

"What, you worried I stunk out the bedroom?"

"Steven."

Steven sighs and half-heartedly thinks back, "Bout four months after you buggered off." He says.

"Uh huh." Brendan nods. That's good. He needs to get a timeline in his head if he wants to work out where things started going wrong, "You start doin' drugs then too?"

Steven sighs in irritation this time, "Why's it any of your business?!"

"It's not."

"Well then."

Another silence – slightly more tense. The clock is ticking and it's getting near to four o'clock. With Andy getting back at five, Steven's sure to be turfing Brendan out soon. He needs to step this up a gear.

"D'you wanna know what I was doing four months in?" Brendan asks, his voice snapping slightly in a violent croak. "Four months in they stopped comin' and tellin' me you wanted to meet up. Four months in I slammed my head so hard against the shelf-unit that it split open. They had to take me to A'n'E in handcuffs. Dunno why I did it. Jus' to get out of there for a while, I guess. Like a mini-break."

"I didn't know that." Steven says quietly.

"I told Chez not to tell ye."

"Why?"

"Cos like I said. I thought it was best if you moved on, and I didn't think you'd do it on your own."

"I did it." Steven says. His voice is harsh but underlined with a tremor... a sound so vulnerable, Brendan worries he's pushed him too far. "I did it more than you know."

"Hm."

"And you should go now."

"I still love you Steven."

The words are out of Brendan before he can stop them. He's wanted to say them for so long – they're words that he's practically _tasted _in his mouth for all these painful years. Nights spent in prison _knowing _he must ignore Steven's pleas, when all he _wanted _to do was scream 'I love you, I need you, Don't Leave Me'. Since seeing Steven's shocked face on that day he got back, it's taken all the effort imaginable to hold the words back, but they're out now.

They're out and they hang in the air, and Brendan already knows before he can withdraw them that he was out of line. Steven doesn't need to know that. Steven's changed, he's moved on, he's got his own life – and he's messed up… and probably unequipped for such a heavy statement in his current condition.

Because with them, such a statement is never straightforward. With it comes an intense, overpowering sensation that lingers suffocatingly – always has, always will.

"Get. Out." Steven breathes. And he sounds furious. Maybe more furious than Brendan's ever heard him, and his voice is still scarily shaky underneath it all – so fragile like it could snap and break at any moment. That, juxtaposed with such a cold harsh exterior, is almost intimidating.

"You should just know." Brendan says, "And you can come and find me whenever you need, I'm serious. Whatever time, for whatever you want – I don't care."

He puts down the estate agent listing for his new flat. He leaves it on the table with all the pictures and the full address. And his mobile number scrawled at the top. It's what he'd been planning to shove through the letterbox when he thought Steven would slam the door in his face.

"Well aren't you valiant." Steven practically hisses.

Brendan shrugs, swallows, and allows himself one more moment of honesty – no defences. "I just miss ye, Steven. That's all."

"Well then _maybe _Brendan… just _maybe… _you might have a _tiny taste_ of what it feels like!" Steven spits, and he pushes Brendan out of the living room door, and Brendan allows himself to be pushed and shoved furiously towards the front door, because there's no point in fighting it.

Brendan opens the door for himself, and his shoulder slams hard on the side as Steven gives him one final almighty shove, which must take all his energy.

"D'ya want to know what I was doin'? Four months in?!" Steven growls, and as Brendan turns to look at him he's SURE he detects the beginnings of tears in Steven's eyes, but they're gone as quickly as they came.

"What?" Brendan's voice is almost gone.

"I was fucking Simon Walker." Ste states plainly. _Hatefully._

And it's like Brendan's whole world is crashing down around him – everything he knew, everything he _thought _he knew… his brain exploding in desperate confusion, manic disbelief, gut-bouldering pain.

An overwhelming sense betrayal overcomes him. He hears himself gasp, rasped, and he falls back against the bars of the balcony… hardly able to stand.

Steven nods assertively; confirming what Brendan couldn't _possibly _believe otherwise.

"Yeah." He says quietly, "And now maybe you're a bit closer. To knowin' how it feels."

And the door slams shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**A part of this chapter is very much drug-minded and hallucinogenic. I hope it makes sense, I really do. **

**And WARNING: I have had to change this to a definite 'M'. This is not a nice chapter. And it's all from a drugged-up POV **

**XOXOXOX**

Everything is spiralling out of control. His mind is screaming, and his chest is in agony, and his body moves from hot to cold and hot to cold. When he stands, the world shakes, and when he sits it's like he's upside down and hanging from the ceiling and he has to stand again. There's adrenaline running through his body but it's battling the vast dank pull of deadness and numbness and nothingness.

He doesn't want to remember, but he's remembering – he can't help it. Because this is what Brendan has pushed him to.

"I was fucking Simon Walker."

He tries to ignore the pain that radiated off Brendan; the sight of him in pain is joining all the jumbled images of Ste's own pain, and Walker's pain, and Amy's pain, and Leah's pain. Months of pain, months of agony – and then nothing. And this is how he preferred it, with nothing. But then Brendan… _Brendan…_

Images come into his head fast and then disappear and fizzle out. And as much as he doesn't _want _to remember, he also can't help trying to bring those images back, simply because it's frustrating to lose them. Pulling them back is like an act of internal self-destruction. The drugs are playing devils advocate with his consciousness, and he thinks that if maybe he could keep a firm grip on just _one _of those memories, he might be able to deal with it and bury it again.

_Walker's above him, bare-chested, and he's testing him. Testing his reliability. Not trusting him. And his lack of trust mixed with the sinful lust in his eyes is daunting. Scary and intimidating._

_But Ste needs it. He needs it right now. _

_He has to do this. _

Ste slumps against the table. There's a bit of paper there – an estate agent listing with some suave modern property on it, and Brendan's mobile number scrawled at the top. Ste rips a piece off of the paper, rolls it up. He hastily compiles a line of coke and it's sloppy and all over the place, but he doesn't care. He hoovers it up. Snorts desperately, feels it dampen the back of his throat.

He wants to forget. He can't do this again. He can't go through it again.

"I was fucking Simon Walker."

_His heart hammers. Walker hooks two fingers inside Ste's mouth and uses the precarious clasp to pull him closer. Ste looks up at him, trying to guess his next move. Has he clocked him? If he has he'll kill him, like he almost killed himself. _

_Walker spits, and Ste can't help but flinch as he catches the flem in his mouth. _

_But after that, Walker's smiling. He pushes his two fingers deeper into Ste's throat, stopping JUST before he reaches that point of making Ste gag._

"_You're pretty, you know that?" He whispers silkily. "I can see what Brendan likes about you."_

_The mention of his lover… or ex-lover… or ex-abuser… or current abuser… or whatever the fuck Brendan is… stirs determination in Ste._

_He sucks Walker's fingers to the tip, releasing them from his mouth with a wet 'pop'. _

"_Don't talk about Brendan." He rasps, and starts unbuckling Walker's trousers; his fly conveniently positioned right in Ste's face. _

_Walker's smile widens. _

The coke isn't doing anything.

Ste struggles as he gropes around the floor for the belt and the needle. His hands are shaking manically with the adrenaline, or something. But everything is still so crystal clear. Too much. The pulsating in his head is the same throughout all his veins, like even his heartbeat is tormenting him with its vividness.

He tightens the belt. Leans his head back against the sofa and shuts his eyes and breathes out and pushes the needle in and winces as it hits the right spot and pleasure overcomes him. That's better. That feels so much better. All the pain drains from him in a slow-burning wash of gratification.

"Fuck." He sighs out, as everything drifts peacefully out of focus. He shuts his eyes and lets the drugs do their work on him.

XOXOXOXOX

The door slams against the wall as Andy bursts into the flat. Ste jerks out of his stupor. It's dark outside now. He has no idea how long he's been slumped here like this, the belt still fastened around his arm. He tugs it off forcibly, but his fingers are lazy and it takes a great deal of effort.

"Hiya," He calls out lazily, as Andy bangs his way into the room.

He scrutinises Ste for just a second, before giving him a somewhat unimpressed, "Had a busy day, 'ave ya?"

"Mmm."

Ste's eyes rest upon Brendan's estate-agency listing. He takes it and shoves it in his pocket – only aware right now of it's existence contaminating his life here, with his boyfriend.

"Andy," His voice comes out slow and whiny, "Will you take me to bed?"

"You wanna fuck?"

"No, I wanna sleep."

Andy scoffs, "Take yourself to bed then, you fuckin' waster."

Ste can hear the tap running somewhere in the distance, but he can barely muster the energy to turn his head and see what Andy's doing. It takes all of his concentration to heave himself to his feet. So much concentration that he barely hears what Andy's saying when he starts talking about 'Gordon' and 'eleven o'clock' and 'big stash'.

"Uh-huh." Ste mumbles, because he knows Andy hates it when he doesn't listen, "Night then."

He catches a brief glimpse of Andy rolling his eyes. But it might just be his slightly blurred vision.

XOXOXOXXO

He wakes up with a start. Because Simon Walker is at the end of his bed. Ste's sure of it. He can't see him properly – he's like a bulging, dark, eerie shadow, but he's there – so very fucking there.

"_I don't like people playing games with me 'Steven'."_

"Andy!" Ste calls out desperately – but his voicebox is gone. Like it's been strangled out of him while he was sleeping. And he's panicking but he can hardly move, even though he wants to run. It's like he's plastered to this bed – frozen solid to it, because he feels cold – so fucking cold.

He can't see it, but he can feel it when Simon Walker unzips his trousers, and Ste's mouth is full of him and it's like he's choking on the taste he doesn't want. He feels it now; like his mouth is full and he can't breathe because of it.

Shit, he can't breathe.

"Andy!" He calls again, but again no sound comes out and this is fucking frustrating. And the lurid spirit of Simon Walker still hovers intensely at the end of his bed. His sordid past coming back to infect his present.

"_But you're in love with Brendan Brady," He whispers softly, "And I fucking __hate__ Brendan Brady. So how can I trust that this isn't your revenge, hm?"_

_Ste forms a knowing smile._

"_Sucking your cock? Some revenge."_

_Walkers eyes flash dangerously. So Ste tries another tactic._

"_Well if you hate Brendan Brady as much as you say you do… how can I trust that this isn't __your__ revenge?"_

_Walker's smile widens. He looks sadistic. Mad. Fucking thrilled._

Ste can feel that smile all over him now. He can feel Simon Walker's breath on his face and on his neck, and it feels really hot there even though the rest of his body is cold. He can feel his breath all over his skin, covering it in goose-bumps. It's like his breath wraps him in a strangled claustrophobic hold that Ste can't escape. It burns him.

He feels like the bed is rocking. Like he's falling.

The mattress is really damp underneath him; soggy with his own sweat.

"Andy!" His voice is gone. It's really gone – it's not there, like he doesn't even exist. Like he might be dead.

He doesn't want to die.

His breathing feels so slow, even as he works himself up into a panic. His breathing can't match the rate of his hammering heartbeat, and it's like suffocation.

He's going to die, if he's not dead already.

He's going to die, and all he's going to hear is the panting of Simon Walker, which increases in his head to become louder and faster until it just blurs into a scream – just a scream, which he can't even relate to a man or a woman or a child, or the scream of the steam-kettle that cried out just before Terry threw it at him.

"ANDY!" He's tearing at his own throat with the effort to make a noise. And he starts to wonder whether it's his sweat that he's soaking in, or his blood. What if it's his blood? What if something's happened?

His skin torn apart by vultures like Terry and Simon Walker and Andrew Fischer and Brendan Brady. Ripped from him till there's nothing left inside.

He's never going to see Brendan Brady again, if he's dead.

It's a heat-sinking blow he's had to slowly come to terms with before. It's vastly reminiscent of his lowest rock-bottom state.

Now he's got to do it again. Like this. Through his bitter, bad-tasting hatred.

Because he's definitely dying. He can feel it in the tremor of his bones. That'll kill him, if he doesn't run out of breath first.

"Andy!"

"Shhhhh," Andy's voice whispers through the darkness, "Shhhh, it's okay baby, I'm here."

"Andy…I don't…" He swallows, tries to get the words out but his mouth feels full and groggy and sticky, and he can hardly talk, "I don't… feel well."

"No, you're okay. I've got ya."

"I don't feel well," He breathes again. Because he's _desperate _for Andy to understand. If he can get Andy to understand then maybe Andy can help him and he won't die. Andy needs to know he's going to die.

"You're fine, you're just _really_ fucking high!" Andy says, and then laughs.

He shouldn't be laughing – he doesn't understand. Why won't he understand? Ste hears a strangled, pitiful noise escape from his own mouth. Like the wail of a wild animal trapped in a cage. Like the sad howl of a slaughtered owl.

"Woah, fuckin' hell!" Laughs another voice, "No wonder you're so low on stash, mate!"

Who's that? Ste feels his heart in his throat as he contemplates for a split second that it's really Simon Walker… that he's really here.

But no… no… that can't possibly be true.

"Baby," Andy whispers in his ear, and his breath feels hot like Walker's. He flinches away from it, cos it's uncomfortable. It burns.

"Baby," Andy breathes, "Gordon's here to see you – remember?"

"W… what?"

"He's bought his stash." Andy's voice is faint, but Ste can still detect the softness in it that he only uses when trying to coax Ste into something. "D'you want a bit, to loosen up?"

"No, Andy I don't feel well." He whimpers

"You're just tripping, baby. It's okay."

He's not tripping. He knows he's not – he's dying. Really, truly.

His body comes alive with goose-bumps as Andy pulls the duvet cover off him. He feels naked and vulnerable and he's not ready yet. He can't face it. Not while his body is still reeling from images of Simon Walker; shivering to the bone from manic recollections.

"Not tonight," He mumbles, but it's barely audible. His voice just comes out slurred and quiet, despite all his efforts to make an impact. "Not tonight. I don't feel well. I'll… just give me some time… to get better."

He's soaking. Now even his own sweat makes him feel suffocated.

"You're fine, Ste." Andy sighs, exasperated. Irritated. "C'mon baby, don't do this tonight."

He kisses Ste on the forehead in something that's supposed to represent support and compassion, but doesn't.

Ste feels his heart-rate quicken to frightening rate as Andy pulls his jogging bottoms off him. He can't do this; not tonight. It's not a case of being stubborn or tired or principled. This isn't like usual nights where he might cause a fuss, before reluctantly doing as he's told.

He _can't_ tonight. Can't… can't… not like this. Never like this.

He can't die with his mouth full… with a stranger inside him.

"Andy, _stop._" He whines

"Listen," Andy hisses low in his ear, quiet enough to stop Gordon from overhearing, "You've eaten up about half my fuckin' stash today; the least you can do is help me get some back."

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Andy backs away. Ste hears him speak apologetically to Gordon; "He's tripping balls."

Gordon laughs… a harsh snort of amusement. "S'alright mate, I'm used to it. You should see the state of the Mrs."

And then Ste can feel the bed shift as Gordon puts his weight on it, and he knows this is his last chance to let them know he's _serious – _that something is horribly wrong with him. That he needs help, and he's scared and could they _just please…_

"Stop." He whimpers.

But it's too late. Gordon is already kneeling on top of him, knees either side of Ste's torso, so Ste can't even _see _anything else anymore apart from the mans crotch.

He's been with Gordon before, two times. He's less of a mate of Andy's, and more of a dealer, but the two still share general banter and occasionally Ste's mouth. He's not as bad as some other of Andy's mates, because he's more laid back and less turned-on by humiliation. He just fancies Ste, according to Andy, and that's all there is too it.

Not tonight though. Please not tonight. He's _so _scared.

"C'mon, open up." Gordon says softly.

His hard cock nudges persistently against Ste's mouth.

"I don't feel well," He tries one more time. But the men can't even be listening to him, because the moment he speaks, Gordon pushes his erection into his mouth, silencing him. The taste of salty pre-cum overcomes him, and he has to breathe through his nose, as if his breathing wasn't already slow and difficult enough.

Gordon thrusts in and out of his mouth as though nothing is wrong.

His legs are lifted by Andy, and he can feel Andy's fingers trying to get inside him.

And tastes and sensations merge in his mind until he can't comprehend anything anymore… until he's not sure who's doing what, until nothing separates this penetration from Simon Walkers, and his whole world is rocking and he thinks he's going to be sick but he daren't. He's choking and tears sting harshly in his eyes, and voices blur until they could be anyone's.

"Good boy. That feels nice."

"_Fuuuuuck, Brady sure knows how to pick 'em."_

"_Ye loike that, Steven?" _

Everything is a surreal blur, and now he's _ready_ to die.

He wants to die.

He wants the drugs to kill him. Here, now, doing this.

It would be a poignant end for him.

XOXOXOXOXO

The room is dark and ghostly quiet when he next opens his eyes. He's not sure whether he drifted off, or whether he saw it through to the end but doesn't remember. He's quite skilful at blanking things out, so either is possible.

He's left alone now though.

His body is still naked. Still cold, but plastered in sweat. The bedding is soaked.

His heart rate has slowed right down. He can barely feel it even… just the occasional thud at every random lengthy period of time.

He can hear voices laughing and chatting away in the living room. Andy and Gordon, definitely. He must have only been passed out an hour, max. Maybe he fainted on them, and they stopped. But somehow he doesn't think they would have.

But his mind feels decidedly more clear in this brief moment than it's done for the last few hours. He doesn't have to think it though much when he reaches with trembling fingers for his jogging bottoms and rummages in the pocket.

He just wants to talk to someone. That's all.

He wants someone to tell him that he's going to be okay. Because he sure as hell can't convince himself.

He dials the number with surprising determination, and listens as it rings once… twice…

Brendan sounds groggy when he answers, like he's been sleeping.

"Yeah?"

"Brendan," Ste whispers. His voice is still slurred and lazy, but he does his best to sound comprehensible. "It's me. Ste."

"Steven?"

There's a silence for a second, where perhaps Brendan decides whether or not to hang up. Ste only vaguely remembers their confrontation at the door, but quite vividly remembers how hurt Brendan was.

"Brendan…" he croaks, because he just wants to hear his voice, that's all. It's weak of him, but then again Brendan _is _his weakness. And this is the weakest he's ever felt.

"What's up?" Brendan asks, "You… are you okay?"

"No!" Ste surprises even himself by how quickly he breaks down. How his voice cracks into immediate tears, and the things roll down his face like they haven't in _years._

"Hey! Steven, what's wrong? Tell me!"

He can't. He tries to muffle the sound of his crying… doesn't want Andy coming in here. But the result is a series of heavy gasping breaths, and no spare air left for talking.

"Steven!" Brendan sounds worried, "D'ye want me to come and get ye?"

Ste tries to pull himself together. He tries to collect himself; he needs to tell Brendan not to come… that it's not safe here.

"You still at home?" Brendan continues, "I'm comin' over."

"I'm…" Ste sobs, sniffs, swallows, "I don't feel well."

"What's wrong with ye? What do you mean?"

"I'm _scared._"

"Okay, stay there Steven."

He hears shuffling, like Brendan's getting out of bed. He hears the clang of Brendan's car-keys.

"I'll be ten minutes." He says.

"You can't. Andy'll kill ya."

"You let me worry about that."

"No, Brendan, please!" It's back. The panic. The bile rising in his throat. He's more scared than he's ever been in his whole fucking life. More scared than when the police showed up, more scared than when he bought the gun. "Stay on the phone…"

"Okay, I'll stay on the phone."

Ste hears the front door slam, and Brendan's car engine start. He's not talking though. Perhaps he's still angry or hurt. But he's staying on the phone, like he said.

For a long time, all Ste can hear is the moving car.

"Brendan," He whispers softly, "Please don't be angry at me."

He doesn't know why he's saying it. He knows it's the drugs talking, but he still can't stop. If these are his last moments alive, he doesn't want Brendan to be angry at him. Even if he is eternally angry at Brendan.

Brendan doesn't reply. But Ste can hear him breathing.

"You're angry." Ste sniffs, "You're angry, even though I'm dyin'!"

"What are ye talking about?!"

"I don't feel well."

"I'm five minutes away."

"Can ya make it all better?" Ste moans pitifully.

Brendan sighs heavily, "Jesus Christ."

"Can you?"

"Just stay where you are, okay, I won't be long."

"Don't hang up!"

"I'm not hangin' up!"

"Good. Cos I miss you."

Again, silence. Nothing but the running engine. He can barely even hear Brendan breathe anymore, like he's holding his breath.

"Brendan…"

"I _heard _you Steven." He sounds angry.

Ste wonders what he's done wrong, apart from fucking overdose and then get fucked by two wankers when he didn't want to. He wonders why Brendan's being such a fucking bastard about this. Always such a fucking fucking bastard.

"Oh you know what?!' He hears himself growl, "Don't bother, Brendan! Just fuck off and let me die then!"

"Can you HEAR how CRAZY you sound, Steven?!"

"My heart is going so so slow." He whines pitifully. Because why won't Brendan tell him that it's all okay?! That's all he wants.

Instead, Brendan sighs heavily.

"Yeah." He mumbles, "That's what crack does to ye."

"DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE I'M STUPID!"

He's not sure that Brendan heard the last part of that sentence, because half way through the phone is snatched from his hand.

He blinks stupidly upwards. The blurred out-of-focus figure of Andy stands by the side of the bed holding the phone out of reach.

"Who the fuck you on the phone to?" He asks harshly.

Ste's too tired for this. He doesn't want to argue or get in trouble or piss anybody off. He can't muster the energy for it, just like he couldn't for the sex. But he didn't get much say in that either, so he suspects Andy's about to start something.

Ste's about to state his appeal one more time; _I don't feel well, _but before he can there's a loud urgent knocking at the front door.

Andy's eyes flash dangerously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Bad language in this one.**

**XOXOXOXOX**

He's not in the mood for this shit. Not in the mood to be called up in the middle of the night by Steven's intoxicated, pitiful slurs and choked up snivels. Not in the mood to be greeted at the door by a topless drugged-up thug, with blank unfocussed eyes as he leers, "You've got some nerve showin' up here."

"Get out of my way." Brendan says shortly, and pushes Andy aside with ridiculous ease – such is the downfall of being such a fucking waster; even Andy's muscles may as well have fried to shit, just like his brain.

He's not in the mood for the second guy who sits in the lounge, legs wide apart, slumped across the sofa like he owns the place. He blinks at Brendan in bemusement and blusters, "Who the fuck is this guy?"

And like a slow-brained afterthought, Brendan hears him add, "Who invited Freddie Mercury?" – thinking that's funny – but Brendan's already striding towards the bedroom and it's too late to throw back some half-arsed retort.

Andy blocks his path again.

"I'm gonna give you three seconds to leave, mate." He says.

Brendan sighs. He's not in the mood. SO not in the fucking mood.

"I'm here to get Steven." He says flatly. He's here to get his fucked-up, back-stabbing, betraying ex-boyfriend, who may or may not be worth all this effort… Brendan doesn't know anymore.

"He's sleepin'." Andy says, "Like a good boy."

Brendan's fist meets Andy's ribs fast, hard and irritably. He doesn't drag it out, or leer, or prolong the victory of Andy gasping for breath on the floor. The bloke's no more than a mere annoyance right now; a few seconds delay in a night Brendan would rather have over and done with.

Brendan steps over him and into the bedroom.

It's dark in here. It _stinks _of sweat and sex.

But Brendan's state of fed up irritation immediately crumbles into pain as he finds Steven in the bed. Steven's whole body is trembling, and he's soaked from head to toe in his own sweat. He's completely naked; uncomfortably and unwillingly flaunting to Brendan every corner of his rib-cage and the cutting points of his hip-bones. He looks half-conscious… if that. His mobile still hangs limply in his right hand.

For the love of fucking Christ, what the hell has happened here?!

"Jesus." Brendan breathes.

"Brendan?" Steven mumbles helplessly.

"Yeah, c'mon," Brendan hoists Steven up into sitting position; the bare wet skin of Steven's back under his fingertips. His eyes seem to roll about, trying to focus.

"Put some clothes on, Steven. Here."

Brendan reaches for a pair of scrunched up jogging bottoms that lay tossed to the side of Steven's head. Steven's feet are limp and clumsy as he tries to work his way into them, no matter how much Brendan tries to guide him.

There are long deep self-made cuts etched along the insides of his thighs.

Brendan feels his stomach drop; like those cuts scratch into his own flesh just by the sight of them.

"C'mon," His tone drops to one of low comfort, "I'm gonna take ye to the hospital, okay? Where's a t-shirt?"

"In the drawer."

"He doesn't need a hospital!" Andy spits incredulously from the bedroom door, "He's bein' a fuckin' drama-queen!"

"HAVE YE SEEN THE SIGHT OF HIM?! WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOU?!" Brendan screams.

He can't comprehend it. Sure, he can believe that this man has the intellectual capacity of a troll, the emotional capacity of a dinosaur, the common sense of a four-inch needle… but FUCKING CHRIST it doesn't take a saint to see that Steven needs help right now.

"Get a fucking t-shirt for 'im!" He barks.

In his drugged-up state, perhaps Andy has enough sense to know he can't win a fight this time around. He seems pretty shocked – either out of it, or genuinely reeling from this turn of events, as it slowly starts to dawn on him that Steven's earlier pleas may have had an ounce of truth in them.

His eyes slowly move from Brendan to Ste. He watches as Steven grasps at Brendan's shoulder weakly and moans for the billionth time, "I really don't feel well."

"I know." Brendan sighs, "Can ye stand up for me?"

"No…"

"I'll take 'im." Andy says defiantly, "To the hospital."

"You got a car?" Brendan asks, already guessing the answer to that question.

"I'll take a bus."

Brendan could destroy this man right here and now, he's so FUCKING incompetent. Brendan didn't leave Steven behind so that he could end up like this, with people like this, in a situation as mind-blowingly dumb and dangerous as this one.

"Oh you'll take a bus?!" Brendan cries, his voice rising hysterically. He laughs – loud, forceful, on the verge of frenzied; sarcasm pouring from every note. "You'll get a fucking bus! Fuck me; ain't you a hero?!"

"Alright mate, calm dow…"

Brendan cuts him off with a strong suffocating grip on the man's neck. It takes all of his restraint to not crush his air-tunnel to a crisp and have this over with.

"I'm _not _your _mate._" He breathes dangerously.

The only reason Andy lives is because Steven's more important right now.

Brendan seizes the first t-shirt from the top drawer and pulls it over Steven's head. It's huge on him; it must be Andy's, but that doesn't matter.

He looks Steven dead in the eye, trying to calculate how much he can understand in his current state. Brendan feels concern consuming him, and whispers, "You okay, yeah?"

"My heart's goin' really slow."

He sounds genuinely scared, and it breaks Brendan's heart no matter how conflicted and betrayed he feels with him right now.

"Right… right, listen!" Andy suddenly barks, piping up again. "You _can't _tell 'em who dealt it to you!"

His voice is unnaturally loud and stupidly slurred; the drugs officially ruining his tough-guy persona and turning him into nothing more than a paranoid wreck.

"DON'T tell 'em, baby, okay?!" He orders, "You'll be fine so long as you don't say nothin'! Jus' shut your mouth n' do what they tell you!"

Neither Ste nor Brendan are listening as Brendan hooks his arms under Steven's back and legs and lifts him into the air. Steven drapes his arm clumsily around Brendan's neck, presses his sweaty forehead against Brendan's chest. Brendan's carried him before like this, but never under such intense circumstances; only ever on drunken flirtatious journeys to the bedroom. Back then Steven had been light as a feather, but now he weighs even less than that.

It's four in the morning, so they're almost completely uninterrupted as Brendan manoeuvres him down the outdoor steps of the council block. The only person they bump into is a pregnant girl smoking on the balcony, who screams after them, "Oh, off 'is head again, is he?! Fuckin' liberty, that one!"

Brendan lowers him into the passenger seat, and by the time the vehicles moving, Steven's asleep again – head pressed against the coldness of the window. Brendan's hands clench fiercely to the steering wheel, as his head is well and truly fucked by this lad and the constant curveballs he's been throwing at him.

"_I was fucking Simon Walker." _

"_It's none of your business how I live my life anymore."_

"_I was fucking Simon Walker." _

"_You seriously think I'm gonna fuck you, don't ya?!"_

"_I was fucking Simon Walker." _

"_Good. Cos I miss ya."_

"_I WAS FUCKING SIMON WALKER."_

None of it makes sense; not when he thinks about how they left things. How the day before _that day, _he and Steven had been perfect. Well… their version of perfect anyway. Steven had slept exactly as he is now, but wrapped and bundled under Brendan's arm as the sun crept in signalling morning. Brendan remembers watching his eyelashes flicker as he dreamt; it was one of those recurring images he had of him in prison. Steven had overslept and had been flustered when he'd ran off to work, deli shirt all creased and un-tucked and untidy. But then he'd ran back in five minutes later with a _massive _goofy grin and stupid honking laughter as he'd chided, "I forgot me kiss!"

Brendan chances a glance at him now… his red eyes with black tired circles underneath. Skinny arms wrapped around himself, hiding the needle-marks Brendan knows are there.

And he can't get out of his head the image of those cuts all over Steven's thighs. He can't place the image alongside _his_ Steven; _his_ with his stupid laugh like he hadn't a care in the world. Him poking the side of Brendan's head with his foot that evening, persistent and irritant and LOVING how Brendan ignored him and got on with his work, until he kicked Brendan's work all over the floor. Queue his graceless honk of laughter as Brendan gave him the death-stare and then mounted him and sucked his neck as punishment.

"_I love ya,"_ Steven had said simply, with a mischievous glint in his eye so endearing that Brendan would _have _to forgive him for his shameless act of being an irritant.

"_Hm. Love you too. Ye little fuck." _

The next day Simon Walker had promised Brendan he'd never ever see his 'precious Steven' ever again.

XOXOXOX

"We've administered the drug narcan by injection," the doctor explains, "And Steven is now stable."

She's a pretty woman; fair skinned with dark hair in a tight pony-tail. Soft face with soft expression. She reminds Brendan ever so slightly of Lynsey, with her approach that _almost _feels like she genuinely cares.

"He's gonna be alright?" Brendan clarifies.

"He's going to be fine. But I'm afraid, without insurance, we can't afford to keep him here any longer. Our job is done, and the best he can do now is go home and sleep it off."

"Hm." Brendan grunts. He doesn't know what he thinks of having to take Steven back to his house. He still can't work out what he thinks of Steven at all, apart from loving him so much it tears at his gut right in half. But he doesn't _like_ him right now – not at all – and the bitter, selfish, angry side of him wants to leave him here to deal with his own mess.

"He has somewhere to stay?" The doctor asks.

Brendan nods shortly. "He'll stay at mine."

Perhaps the nurse recognises the agitation and reluctance in Brendan's expression. Perhaps she misinterprets it for not wanting a druggie stinking out his place. Perhaps his well-rehearsed image of power and importance juxtaposes him from Steven's current state, because she immediately refers to his apparent wealth when she passes him a glossy leaflet.

"You were asking about rehab earlier?" She says, "It's a long process to get a place on the NHS, but there is private rehabilitation for those that can afford it. If you're interested."

"Yeah." Brendan nods, reaches out for the brochures. "Yeah. Thanks."

He stuffs the leaflet into his pocket and walks back to Steven's bedside.

He's awake now, but still groggy and tired and a little out of it. He's not talking much; at least having the decency to look ashamed that Brendan had to bring him here a whole seven hours ago.

"What were that about?" He asks quietly, when Brendan returns.

"None of your business." Brendan tosses Steven his t-shirt, "C'mon. We're goin' home."

"What d'ya mean _'home'_?"

"You gotta stay at mine for a while. Sleep it off."

"My legs are still dead shaky." He mumbles, as if embarrassed.

"You'll cope."

Brendan's not going to indulge him with being overly attentive or compassionate. Truth is he doesn't take his eyes off Steven the entire time he struggles through the car-park, but Steven doesn't have to know that.

Their journey back to Brendan's flat is in complete silence. Partly out of choice and partly because Steven drifts in and out of sleep every few minutes.

Once inside, Brendan guides him straight towards the spare bedroom. He hasn't even had time to deck it out yet; there's no duvet or curtains. But he gives Steven the duvet from his own bed – just for the day – and leaves him to it. A good twelve hours sleep and at least they might be able to have a conversation where Steven doesn't slur or stutter.

"Brendan!" Steven calls after him as he makes to leave the bedroom, "… Thanks."

Brendan just nods; curt, non-committal, and leaves him to his rest.

XOXOXOXO

Somehow, despite everything Brendan feels about Steven right now, the flat seems less dead with him inside it.

Brendan sits in the empty silence of his brand new kitchen. There's no sound but the careful ticking of the clock and low hum of the washing machine. But knowing Steven is sleeping just a couple of doors down… it's comforting. It's familiar, and Brendan feels a weight lifted, knowing that Steven's safe and secure here and for the time being, sober. The idea of Steven far away doing God knows what has consumed him every day since he came out of prison. It was always there – lingering in the pit of his stomach; the fear and the dread and the regret.

He still clutches to his glass of whisky cos God knows Steven's behaviour is still sending him grey – perhaps even more so. Fucking _overdosing_ like that; what did he think he was doing?! And why?

He must have started the minute Brendan had left him, and the thought is enough to send him cold. What was it about Brendan's presence, about telling Steven that he still loved him, that sent him over the edge like that?

"Hiya."

Steven's presence makes him jump. He's spent so much time thinking about him lately that him suddenly being in the room is like conjuring him via the power of his mind. He's wearing his jogging bottoms, but has Brendan's dressing gown wrapped around him; swamping his whole body. His hair is untidy – just how Brendan used to like it.

"Hi." Brendan says gruffly. "Ye sleep alright?"

"Out like a light, yeah."

"Hm, I'm not surprised."

"Yeah." Steven mutters, seeming embarrassed again. "Thanks… by the way. Did… did I say thanks?"

"You did."

"Okay. Good. Cos… you know. You didn't have to come like that. It was a bit out of order, weren't it? Me callin' you."

"No." Brendan shakes his head, and he means it genuinely. No matter how betrayed he feels, it wasn't out of order for Steven to call him. This is _them _they're talking about. Brendan will always be there for Steven, whenever he needs him.

"You feelin' better?" He asks, to ease out the tense silence.

"Mm." Steven nods, "A bit. Bit dizzy."

"Ye need somethin' to eat."

Brendan gets up immediately. He can barely look Steven in the eye – not after everything – so bustling around the kitchen is a good excuse not to. He grabs a plate and pulls open doors to his empty cupboards as if hoping to conjure something he knows it not there.

"Shit." He mutters.

"S'alright," Steven says immediately, "I should be gettin' home anyway."

Brendan blinks and spins around to face him.

He's not sure whether he ought to feel surprised, but he is. Stunned in fact.

"Home?"

"Well… yeah."

"To that arsehole?!"

Steven blinks. Everything seems to hang tenderly around them… both of them on egg-shells; Steven devoid of his usual furious defences. It's like he doesn't know what to say this time. Hasn't got the energy to fight back perhaps, or maybe just isn't feeling it this time around.

"Well… what… d'you want me to stay _here_?"

"I don't know." Brendan says, honestly again. He has no idea what he wants.

Everything is quiet again.

But Steven's not leaving.

That's got to mean something – though Brendan's not sure whether he should feel happy about it. He doesn't have a clue… about anything.

All he knows is that Steven should eat.

"I'll order a pizza." He says, after a moment.

"I'm not really hungr…"

"I'm ordering."

Brendan pushes past him, feels tension like fused electric as their shoulders bang together, and Steven flinches ever so slightly.

He feels exhausted as he reaches for the phone, and it's nothing to do with his 28 hours of no sleep. It's these four weeks of trying to work out what's going on in Steven's mind. It's the three years of being trapped in prison; longing, pining, suffering, sacrificing – and ultimately for no reason at all. It's the longing for that year they spent together – not easy, but not difficult either; just passionate, raw, exciting, and being so deeply deeply deeply in love he didn't know whether he was up or down.

He feels exactly the same now, only now it's agonising.

Steven barely touches his pizza – just nibbles round the sides. He's sat on the far end of Brendan's leather sofa, knees pulled up against his chest and toying with the pepperoni, taking it off and dipping it in ketchup and then leaving it on the side of the plate.

"Steven," Brendan sighs, "You're gonna starve yerself to death."

"I've just been in hospital, ain't I? It can ruin a guys appetite."

"What, ye don't like pepperoni anymore? I remember when ye used to shovel it down."

"I think that was you." A tiny smile plays on Steven's lips. It's almost undistinguishable, except Brendan knows him well enough to spot it.

"No, it was you." He says. "Pepperoni pizza, cheese burgers and them… them weird-as-fuck sandwiches, what was it?"

"I don't remember."

He does. Brendan knows he does.

"Yeah you do. It was jam and tuna. I mean, seriously, what the fuck?! But ye used to shove 'em down like your last meal. Worse than me, I remember."

Steven puts his plate down on the floor, still full of food.

"I jus' feel a bit queasy." He explains quietly.

Course he does. Only natural. He's pumped himself with drugs, and then had another load pumped into him to counter it. Brendan's surprised he's managed to keep his stomach intact this long, and suspects that's only because it's empty.

He would eat Steven's pizza himself, only to do so would feel a bit too intimate. And they're not doing that right now – either of them. They're sat as far apart as possible, on two separate sofas, eye-contact minimal. Both of them are reeling from a history too intense to stomach, and separate betrayals too painful to approach under these circumstances.

Steven must be thinking it too, because his next words strike through Brendan's very core.

"Brendan… I know you're angry about Walker."

"Don't." Brendan winces.

If they discuss it now, he'll only do or say something stupid. And Steven's fragile… everything's fragile… it's best just to leave it.

"No," Steven reasons, "I know you're angry, yeah. But that's why I'm dead grateful… you know… that you picked me up. But it doesn't change anythin' between us."

"Hey. I picked you up cos your boyfriends a useless arsehole, who'd have left ye to die if it came to it. S'nothin' to do with you and me."

"Don't say that."

"What? About your twat of a boyfriend?"

"He's not a twat."

Brendan scoffs; feels irritation and disbelief pulsate through him. Surely Steven can't believe that? He was quick enough to point out how much of a twat Brendan was whenever _he_ did anything wrong. What makes _this guy_ so different?

"He's a cunt." Brendan seethes, "He's a fat fuckin' cunt who would've happily let you…"

"_Shut up!"_

"No I won't. He was gonna leave ye there, Steven – does that not ring alarm bells, no?! He doesn't love you, he doesn't give a shit."

"I don't _want_ him to love me!"

Brendan steels… opens his mouth and closes it again… feels like he's missed a step somewhere.

Did he hear that right?

How does that make any sense?

This is Steven. A man who willingly seeks out love wherever he can find it and wills himself to feel it in return, even when it's for defence purposes. A man who can fool himself whole-heartedly that he's in love if it serves or protects his purpose correctly. And when he does love… when he really _truly _loves… he does so with such breath-taking conviction, mind-blowing passion, life-changing adoration. For Steven not to love doesn't suit him.

"What do you mean?" Brendan asks.

"S'not about love." Steven says, as though it's obvious. "It's about him bein' _there, _and him just… bein' _normal…_"

"He wasn't there, and he's not normal!"

"At least he don't change every single day!"

"No, do NOT try and make this about me!" Brendan finds his voice rising, his heart hammering in defence and panic as his worst fears begin to confirm themselves, "I didn't make ye end up like this!"

"It was ALL about you!" Steven cries.

But then he immediately pipes up, like he's said too much. And he pulls his knees back up to himself, physically closing away, shutting down. Like he was going to go further – had more to say – but refuses to go there.

But Brendan wants to know. He knows that it will hurt him, possibly more than anything, but he wants to understand – so much he does.

"What do you mean?" He says weakly, "What – like gettin' back at me? S'that what you mean?"

"It doesn't matter." Steven says firmly, staring off into the blank television set.

"It does matter. It matters to me."

"It's in the past."

"I wanna know what you were gonna say." Brendan says.

And he picks himself up, moves to sit on the edge of Steven's sofa – cautiously closing the long gap between them. Steven glances at him quickly and then away again – as if afraid of him coming any closer.

"Tell me, please." Brendan says. Because he _longs _for it. Longs to understand. Needs to know how much damage he did, so he can forever punish himself accordingly.

There's a long, painful, torturous silence. Brendan's sure Steven must be able to hear it's heart beating as it bangs against his ribcage in fearful anticipation. But Steven is preoccupied – still staring off in some other direction, his lips trembling apart as though deciding whether to say anything or not.

His voice is almost inaudibly quiet as he whispers, "I did it for you."

"Did what?" Brendan asks, and matches Steven's volume in a low murmur, "Did what for me?"

"Revenge."

Brendan pauses, tries to wrap his head around that one word and work out where it fits in. He can't… it doesn't make sense. Where between fucking Walker and sticking a needle in himself did Steven get 'revenge' for Brendan?

"I just wanted him to suffer." Steven whispers, eyes fading like ghosts… like he's reliving it somehow.

"Hey," Instinctively, Brendan moves further up the sofa, cups Steven's cheek with his palm, "Hey… tell me what you're talkin' about Steven."

"Walker."

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted him to suffer." Steven sniffs, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, "For what he did."

Brendan still can't work it out. If Steven was _sleeping _with Walker… like he said he was… then how in Gods name was that making him suffer?! It was precisely the opposite. It would have been like Walker's fucking wet-dream; having a beautiful lad under him, and getting one over on Brendan at the same time. Steven would have known that, _surely. _It could _only _have been them working together to stab Brendan in the back. Unless…

"I were like a prostitute," Steven whimpers, and his eyes are filling with tears faster than Brendan can comprehend, "Except for no money. And now… and now I'm _still _like that."

Still like that? What's he saying? Is he still doing it?! Is Simon Walker still out there? Still using Steven's body… still claiming him as his own?! What the fuck is happening?

"What do you mean?" Brendan says, and it comes out urgent and terrified; trembling with the pressure not to scream.

"I didn't wanna sleep with 'em, but they made me."

"Who?!"

"Gordon and Andy."

The whole world is spinning, spiralling out of his control. He can't make sense of any of this. Or maybe he just doesn't want to… maybe it all makes perfect sense…

"No…" he breathes, "Explain it to me, Steven. What… are you talkin' about last night?!"

Steven nods, dipping his head to hide his tears and it breaks Brendan's heart.

"They raped you?"

"He can't rape me; he's my boyfriend."

"No," Brendan tries to stay calm, "you said you didn't want to do it."

"With _Gordon._" Steven says, "Or… or with any of 'em. But just… just sometimes I have to."

"What… sleep with random men?! Why do you?!"

"Cos… we owe 'em money and stuff."

"You and Andy?"

Steven nods weakly, "Yeah."

Brendan feels his fists curl and immediately takes his hands off Steven, aware that one wrong move and it'll stop him talking. But he wants to kill. He wants to _murder _that son-of-a-bitch. That spineless, gutless FUCK who paid off his drug debts by _pimping out _his own boyfriend… _Brendan's _Steven.

"Steven, what are you doin' with a man like that?!" He gasps, unable to believe it.

"What… as opposed to a man like you?!"

"Listen, I know I fucked up!" Brendan cries, "I know I did! And I regret it okay?! More than I regret anything in the whole fucking world! But Steven you are _not _going back to that piece of shit, d'ye hear me?! I'm not gonna let ye! You're gonna stay here, where I can look after ye and…"

"I don't need looking after!" Steven says.

But his body is trembling from his drug-comedown, and he's hot flushed, and tears dribble down his cheeks, and he looks so _small _and more vulnerable than Brendan has ever seen him. And of course he needs looking after, fucking _course _he does. And it's Brendan's job to do that.

"You're staying here tonight." Brendan breathes, "You're not going home."

And although it looks like a big part of Steven might like to argue… another part of him is exhausted and helpless and desperate. And it's that part of him that sinks against Brendan's chest with a loud dry-sob; surrendering to the nurturing hands that embrace him.

Brendan wraps his arms tightly around him… been wanting to do this for three whole fucking years, but now he feels so useless. He just grips him tightly, and rocks him for God knows how long. He tries to take in everything Steven has told him, but his heads a mess; can't even comprehend it.

All he knows is that he _has _to make this better.

He presses kisses to the top of Steven's head… his hair already slightly damp with fever.

He's not in any comprehensible state of mind as he breathes like a chant, "I love you Steven. I love you, you know that don't ye? I don't care if you don't like it – I love ye."

He wants him to understand. He wants Steven to know that he is still adored in every capacity, even though Brendan can't blame him for not believing in it anymore.

They stay like that until it goes dark, and they're absorbed in the night-lit shadows of the living room. Brendan thinks Steven must be asleep, and continues to grip him tightly against his chest.

Until he hears a small voice emerge, muffled into Brendan's jumper.

"I killed him." Steven says darkly. "Shot 'im right dead. Didn't think I could do it – but I did."

And Brendan realises they only touched the surface tonight, of the horror's Steven's been through.


	8. Chapter 8

"Brendan…" He whispers.

He doesn't want to move; feels oddly secure with his cheek pressed up against Brendan's chest, Brendan's palm wrapped around the back of his neck. He's been positioned this way for hours, trying to calm himself by listening to the repetitive drum of Brendan's heartbeat.

But it's getting harder and harder to remain calm. He hasn't slept a wink. He's got that feeling all over his skin… like an itch that's going longer and longer unattended. Like a dry mouth gasping for a drink, or a man on the brink of starvation.

"Brendan," he hisses, and shuffles slightly. His muscles ache acutely under the strain of a small movement.

"Hmmm?" Brendan mumbles, still half asleep himself.

Ste may as well come out with it. No point beating around the bush- not when he's already been holding out as long as possible.

"Brendan, I need you to get me a fix. Please. Now. Please."

Brendan's awake then – immediately. And confronted by his alert state, Ste suddenly feels self-conscious and pulls himself away so that not a part of them is touching. With every fibre of his body he stares into Brendan's eyes and _longs _for him to move fast, to make whatever call he has to make, to fucking _help _because Ste can't leave the itch any longer.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me." Brendan breathes.

"No." Ste shakes his head, feels a wave of panic wash through him as he realises this isn't going to be as easy as he _needs _it to be. "Jus'… please Bren… jus' call one of your guys, yeah? For me."

"You're sick in the head if you think I'm doin' that."

Ste shakes his head, refusing to hear this, and his heart's hammering in overdrive because Brendan's not _listening, _he doesn't _understand _and Ste doesn't have _time _for this. He feels sick and his body temperature is increasing like he's physically on fire from the desperation.

Brendan can't leave him like this – no way.

He can't torture him – this isn't Ste's _fault._

"Look, I SWEAR TO GOD, you get it for me or I'm gettin' out of here!"

"You overdose, you get raped, and you learn NOTHIN'?! What the fuck is wrong with y…"

"I DON'T HAVE TIME TO ARGUE WITH YA, I JUST NEED YOU TO…"

"Just breathe through it!" Brendan demands, as if it's that easy. And he's staring at Ste expectantly, as if Ste can _really _do that, as if that's a feasible thing. As if his body is not crying out in agony; agony that just one small prick of a needle can have fixed in a second.

Ste feels tears fill his eyes in an instant – happening a lot lately. He doesn't want to leave here, doesn't want to go back to Andy, not tonight. He's weak now. The allure of staying here, with Brendan, is strong. It brings him feelings of safety practically alien to him these days, and the feeling is so powerful he's almost helpless to deny himself. He wants to be here. Why won't Brendan just _help _him?!

He tries to breathe, tries to calm himself. If he speaks calmly, maybe he can get Brendan to understand.

"I just… I'm not gonna do anythin' stupid. I'm not gonna _overdose; _it's just one fix, that's all I need."

"Forget it Steven." Brendan stands, and he's walking away.

Brendan's disappointed in him; it pours off him and fouls the air around them with frosty disdain. Not that Ste cares much about that right now. Not under these circumstances.

"Will ya just fuckin' LISTEN to me?!" He screams, "This isn't about you bein' all high-and-mighty, right, this is about you takin' your head our your arse for once and actually _helpin' _me!"

"What – by giving you drugs?!" Brendan cries, incredulous.

"YES!"

"Oh yeah, yeah alright, and maybe I'll help put the needle in you too – is that what you want?!"

Ste's close to physically tearing his own hair out. What started as desperation is rapidly turning into something more; a kind of alarming anxiety, overwhelming need - so powerful he could choke on it. He _so_ needs Brendan to understand, but his brain isn't concocting reliable sentences for him to translate, until in the end he's just SCREAMING and SHOUTING and there's tears and he loses sense of everything.

He's only half aware of his fists flying, meeting flesh; a roar of surprise and outrage from Brendan.

"Steven, STOP IT!"

"Please!" Ste cries; is only vaguely aware of how pathetic he sounds, "Please Brendan, I won't ask you for anythin' else – this is it, and then I'll leave you alone, I promise, please Brendan."

His hands grip needily to the front of Brendan's vest, his knuckles trembling with the force of it.

"Steven, stop it, I'm serious."

"I can't!" He cries. His voice trembles halfway and then breaks into a high-pitched plea. He must be a state; his tears merging with the snot – all substances pouring out of him like he has no control of them. His whole body is shaking with it. He grips his fingers tightly to the skin of his own elbows as he tries to suppress something, _anything, _even if it's just his groping hands.

For the first time, something shows through the haze and he notices the blood that drips from Brendan's nose.

And something in Brendan's eyes that looks an awful lot like _fear._

"Steven, you need to calm down." He says – but he sounds less sure of himself, less determined.

"Can't." Is the only thing Ste manages to choke out. He feels like an animal restrained; like Brendan is _restraining _him. It scares and overwhelms him and he's tortured by it. He can never be calm, will never stop crying until he gets the help he needs. Even if he has to leave Brendan's sanctuary to get it.

"Jesus…" Brendan runs his hands through his hair.

"Please," Ste pleads once more, catching his breath and sniffing back tears in order to make his final appeal. "Please, Brendan, please, I need it – I really need it."

It's like Brendan is fighting something inside of himself. He lets out a strained moan which sounds as tortured as Ste feels.

"No, no," He mutters, as though arguing with his own conscience, "No, Steven, I don't like this."

"I know, but you _have_ to though."

Ste does a quick scan of the room and spots Brendan's phone on the coffee table by the front door. He grabs it and hands it out to him, and the phone shakes as he holds it out with trembling fingers.

Brendan looks at it darkly. Snatches it from Ste's hand.

"Hurry." Ste croaks.

Brendan sighs. His eyes are dark and angry and disappointed and scared and conflicted – and it all hurts Ste like he never imagined it _could. _But it still doesn't break his resolve.

"This is fucked up," Brendan says, "You know that?!"

"It don't matter though."

"I'm only gonna do this cos if I don't you're only gonna go get some bad shit from somewhere else. An' if you're gonna do it, I wanna make sure it's at least pure, no added crap that's gonna kill ye…"

Ste nods, eyes fixed on the phone, barely registering what Brendan's saying.

"Fuck," Brendan groans, and presses the phone miserably to his forehead.

"C'mon, please."

"Just…" Brendan starts to dial the number, but then stops. "I'm gettin' you in rehab. Soon as the place opens tomorrow, I'm callin' them."

"Just dial the number, please."

"JESUS, you're not even LISTENIN'!" Brendan rages.

But he says nothing more after that, and Ste releases a breath he didn't even realise he was holding as he watches Brendan _finally _dial the number.

"Hey," Brendan mumbles into the phone, "I need ye to get over here with some stuff. Now. … I _know _it's been a long time, what the fuck does that matter?! ... Hey, hey, hey – I don't employ you to ask questions! Jus' get over here _right now._"

XOXOXOXOXOX

Brendan's sofa is comfortable. So fucking comfortable. The leather is warm against Ste's cheek, and it smells new and clean, but he can also smell the scent of Brendan's aftershave against the material. Even after his three years in prison, Brendan's smell hasn't changed. It smells of a happy time… reminding Ste faintly of entangled naked limbs, and sarky remarks with hushed laughter, secret whispered confessions inside the bed-sheets, and the softness of that moustache against his skin and under his fingertips.

Prior to today, he'd blocked out all good memories of Brendan. When he thought about him in prison, he thought about his sour mood-swings and heavy fists and selfishness that never ceased to surprise him.

But now as he lies against the sofa, pleasure coursing through his body from the needle – he's remembering other things. Brendan busies himself in the kitchen a few metres away and he's not speaking to Ste… and it reminds Ste of that one time back in Hollyoaks. He'd lay across the sofa, trying to be enticing whilst Brendan was broody and sulking about something or other. Ste had been drunk; intoxicated in a way which used to make him flirtatious and giggly.

"_Brendaaaaaan," _He'd sung, and watched as Brendan's mouth twitched – suppressing his amusement, "_Brendaaaaan! I'm very lonely over 'ere!"_

He feels the urge to do the same thing now.

Something inside of him pangs with nostalgia… he wants to feel that giddiness of being young and carefree and in love again. He'll recreate it manually if he has to.

"Brendaaaaaan!" He sings. His voice slurs slightly as he says it, and he sounds a bit more groggy than he did in his memory, "Brendaaaaaan!'

Brendan ignores him. Won't even look at him this time.

"You're bein' very moody!" Ste points out, "Some things never change, eh?!"

Brendan stiffens. But then he resumes his position over his paperwork. Not that Ste believes he actually has paperwork… he doubts Brendan's had time to buy another business since getting out of jail.

"Brendaaaaaan," He sighs, energy draining from him slightly.

"Stop it, Steven."

"What? You're not bein' a very good host, are ya?"

"Ye don't need me to entertain you." Brendan says dully, "You got your needle for that."

Ste rolls his eyes. "Oh, is _that _why you're in a bad mood?"

Brendan stares at him, disbelieving. It makes Ste self-conscious.

"What?" He asks.

"I'm fuckin' furious at ye, that's what!" Brendan shouts back.

"Well you've got no right to be – you don't _own _me! S'none of your business what I do in my spare time, is it?"

"It's my business when you get fucked off your head on my own couch. With my own money."

"Oh, I'll pay ya back!" Ste snaps irritably.

"It's not about that!"

"YOU just said it was!"

"No it's…" Brendan sighs, exasperated, "Jesus, there's no point even talkin' to ye when you're like this."

Brendan gathers his things and makes to leave the room. Watching him go, Ste feels his heart pang with guilt or loss or disappointment or… or something. Something he _shouldn't _feel. After everything Brendan did to him, after he left Ste to rot when he went to prison… Ste shouldn't even _be _here. It's so typically weak of him to fall back into Brendan's presence despite everything. Sending off signals that Brendan can do it all over again, and Ste will still be here – which simply shouldn't be true. Brendan makes a fool of him. And even after all these years, it seems that one thing hasn't changed.

"…Brendan?" Ste mutters quietly as he pokes his head round Brendan's bedroom door.

Brendan's laying face down on his bed, head rested on his arms, armpit hair jetting out from underneath his tight black t-shirt.

Ste glances around his room briefly. It's plain – white walls, grey bedding, iron bed-posts. And it's unnaturally tidy as only Brendan is.

Ste's eyes scan over the chest of drawers. Lined on top is Brendan's aftershave, moustache comb, a half-empty glass of scotch. His wallet lays abandoned by the side, with half the stash that that bloke bought round. Again, Ste feels an uncalled for pang of guilt.

Even more so when his eyes rest on the photograph.

It's a print out. And recognising his own face on it, Ste can't help but move further into the bedroom and pick it up. And there's his own face looking back at him. The same… but so different. It's from Dublin. Ste recognises it immediately; it had been the background on Brendan's phone for the entire time they were together.

The picture-version of Ste is grinning. His arm is hooked comfortably around Brendan's shoulders. He looks relaxed… like life was easy then. Like he was happy – genuinely, and without any pain in it. Brendan's arm is outstretched, holding out the phone that took the picture.

"What's this?" Ste asks, his voice breaking slightly.

"What's it look like?" Brendan grunts back, typically evasive.

"Why's it here?"

"I had it in prison." Brendan mutters, "Jus' put it back."

Ste's stomach feels tight, and the photo shakes slightly in his fingers. It's overwhelming. The picture speaks volumes; all the words that are too hard for Brendan or Ste to say out loud. It screams out the past – intense in its picturesque reminder of happiness and love. A visual shout-out to what they had. What's disintegrated away into foulness, as Ste barely even recognises himself in it.

"Put it _back _Steven." Brendan says firmly.

"Why've you even kept this? It's well old."

Brendan gets up then. He crosses the room and prises the picture from Ste's fingers, and he puts it back in its _exact _place on the chest of drawers.

"I can keep it if I want."

"Yeah but why though?"

Ste feels self-conscious. He feels like he's looking into a picture of Brendan's deceased ex-sweetheart. He feels like an intruder who's robbed the body of Brendan's old happy love… and like Brendan must hate him for it.

"I like that picture." Brendan says, with tired honesty. "I miss it. Every day."

"You… you miss _me_?"

Brendan thinks about that for a minute.

"Yeah." He sighs deeply, "Yeah, I do Steven."

"Even though I'm right here."

"Half here."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Your eyes can hardly focus."

Ste swallows. Feels guilty _again, _and hates himself for feeling it.

"So what," He feels his defences rising, "You wanked over that picture every night in prison instead of actually lettin' me visit ya?!"

Brendan rolls his eyes. He's closing down again – like he can barely be bothered to hold a conversation, and he's refusing to rise to Ste's antagonising.

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Right, well I don't want you lookin' at it!" Ste says. Somewhere, vaguely, he can feel that's he's being unreasonable, but he doesn't care. He feels irritant and strangely violated. And _jealous. _Fucking _jealous… _of his old-self.

And it's not even the drugs making him this crazy. It's the situation. It's Brendan. Always Brendan. Always worse than any drug has _ever_ been.

"I don't want you lookin' at it, right?!" Ste repeats, psyching himself up. "It's history! An'… and you jus' need to get over that."

"Get over it?"

"Yeah! That's not me anymore, okay, so you lookin' at it like you're a fuckin' widower is just… well it's just _pathetic_!"

Brendan tuts, "Oh shut up Steven."

"No, you shut up!"

"D'ye wanna get out of my bedroom now?"

"No! I wanna see ya rip it up."

He can't stop himself. He doesn't even know _why… _doesn't know why he's demanding these things… just wants to see if Brendan will.

"Get out of my room." Brendan says flatly. Still calm… but his taking a deep breath suggests he'd like to be anything but.

"RIP IT UP I SAID!"

"Yeah, and _I _said get the fuck out of here!" Brendan yells back.

There's not a rational or coherent thought in his mind as Ste lunges for the picture. He's acting on impulse – on sheer long-bottled emotion. When he tears the paper it sounds impossibly loud and menacing. But he rips again and again and again and again and again, until it's nothing… until it's tiny tiny pieces that are dropping all over Brendan's pristine carpet. Ripping and tearing right through their stupid smiles and their stupid naïve happiness.

Brendan just watches him. He's completely still. Expertly expressionless.

And Ste hates that, because when there's nothing more to rip, there's nothing he can do with himself. It's like he wants to destroy more… wants Brendan to _fight _him so he can fight back. But Brendan's giving him _nothing _and that's worse than _anything. _

Ste shoves him – hard. The palms of his hands hit Brendan's rock-hard chest with a violent whack.

Brendan barely shifts. Like a statue.

Ste reels back this time, ready to exert more strength, and goes for another shove. But Brendan catches his wrists in midair before he can make the contact, and _God _he's strong; Ste can barely fucking move his arms, but that doesn't stop him struggling.

"_Get off!_" He growls, teeth clenched with the efforts.

"You come in here and throw your weight around and fuck up my stuff, is that how this is gonna work?!" Brendan hisses.

It sounds callous and hateful in Ste's ears, and he can't stand it. The tears sting him from the inside.

"Fine, I'll leave then!" He sniffs, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

"Or how about you DON'T leave, but how about you fuckin' pull yourself together and stop acting like a fucking scitzo!"

"_You're _the one acting scitzo!" Ste growls, "Tellin' me you love me last night, then treatin' me like shit today!"

"Well what do you WANT from me, Steven?!"

"I want you to stop ignorin' me!" Ste cries, and it sounds pitiful. But this is it – this is what's bothering him, he can feel it now. He hates feeling the disappointment radiating from Brendan, piercing Ste like he deserves it, when he doesn't. He hates Brendan acting like an arsehole to him, after he poured his heart out to him last night.

He hates the idea that Brendan might not love _him. _The new him.

"Ya hate me like this don't you?" He sniffs, "You hate me cos I needed a fix, and I'm not… I'm not _him _anymore."

"I could never hate ye." Brendan sighs, and his grip weakens around Ste's arms, "I don't hate you I just… I'm just trying to deal with… to understand …this… "

"I don't get what's not to understand." Ste pouts, sulky, "You've been dealin' half your life; you must know how it works."

"Yeah I've been dealin' to low-lifes, they were wastes-of-space. But you're not like them, so…"

"I am."

"You're _not._" Brendan says firmly.

Ste blinks back the tears forming in his eyes. He wishes Brendan would release his hands so he could clear away the snot forming in his nose – wishes he didn't look so pathetic, wishes the drugs didn't force the fluids out of him like floods.

"I'm addicted." He says darkly, shamefully. "Kay? I can't help it. It doesn't work like that."

"I know."

"So you can't hate me for it; it's not fair. And I'm sorry about… about the picture but I just… I just…"

"What?" Brendan asks.

Ste doesn't really know what. He feels ashamed now, looking reluctantly into the torn shreds of their past. Brendan's picture, which he'd wanted to keep.

"I'm sorry I'm not him anymore." He whispers weakly.

And he is. He misses it – every bit of it. The grinning face of his in the picture displayed a kind of happiness Ste had forgotten he ever experienced. And now it gnaws at him in mourning. His gut tugs in sad grief.

"Yeah, you were a hoot." Brendan says, with the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Ye were a stubborn little fuck, if you remember right. Fuckin' annoying as hell when ye wanted to be. And ye used to flip out at me and do somethin' stupid like mess up my stuff for no reason at all. Just to prove a point."

Ste blinks slowly… his mind holding intently onto Brendans words. Brendan lowers to the ground with a sigh, and picks up a few tiny pieces of the destroyed photograph.

"In fact," he breathes, "I don't think you've changed that much at all, Steven."

It takes a moment for all those words to sink into Ste's head – for him to make sense of them.

But then a small shaky smile trembles cautiously on his lips. And Brendan meets it with a dry, genuine one of his own.

Brendan's smiles used to nearly always be reserved for Ste alone. He always used to love that smile – remembers thinking it was charming and sexy and special.

He thinks so now too.

He doesn't think about it as he moves closer in, barely an inch between him and Brendan. It feels right. Familiar and magnetic and entrancing. And Brendan's fingers curl supportively around the back of Ste's neck, and his hands are so warm and they promise such security and strength.

It's Ste who brings their lips to meet. And it's Brendan's lips that are the _most _recognizable… the roughness of them and the hair of his moustache against Ste's face. And God FUCK in this moment it's hard to truly understand how he's been without this so long. Their lips push against each other firmly, reacquainting themselves. Brendan's kiss is so solid, confident, assuring. He kisses like nobody's ever kissed Ste – not ever. Like he'll never ever stop.

They seem to melt into it… and minutes could pass or hours, but everything seems to stay still as their lips push and burn and feel each other. And it's like there's no world but them… like nothing ever changed.

When they pull away, the smiles are still there. There's a warmth in Ste's stomach that feels peculiar, but gorgeous. His smile grows as he thinks about it, until he wonders whether he's beaming… whether his eyes are shining like in the picture?

"I missed you." He says quietly.

It's an understatement. It sounds meek and ridiculous under the circumstances… after everything that's happened. But in this moment it could be like Brendan was only gone for _days, _not years.

Brendan's eyes trail over his face, from his lips to his eyes. Nothing about it makes Ste feel self-conscious. He loves it. Feels valued and worth something.

"Sleep in here tonight." Brendan says.

XOXOXOXOX

He feels safer and warmer and more content than he has in his entire life. He's tucked under Brendan's arm, Brendan's lips rested on the top of his head. Brendan's naked chest rises and falls as he breathes in a way that's almost hypnotic.

Brendan's fingers trace back and forth along the cuts on Ste's thighs. He hadn't even asked about them as Ste changed into a pair of shorts… for which Ste was grateful. But then in silence, Brendan's fingers had crept under the duvet and now he caresses those scars with a gentleness that is rare on him. Ste had flinched at the contact at first, but now he feels calm by it.

He allows his head to sink back and for himself to relax, absorbed in the silence of the bedroom and the close proximity of a man who loves him.

It's a far cry from the fierce coldness of his bedroom at home, where he'd lay waiting for Andy's friends to come and tell him which way to position himself.

Ste doesn't know what any of this means… but it doesn't matter right now. He'll have to go home soon, but he doesn't want to think about that yet. Right now he just wants this… to stay in this dreamworld of back-in-time.

"Night." He whispers, and feels his eyelids sink heavily.

"Hey," Brendan croaks through the darkness, and then he lifts Steven's face with his index finger at Steven's chin, and brings their lips together one last time. Like the last bookend of their weekend together, Ste decides.

He traces his finger over his own lip lightly, remembering how Brendan felt there, and hoping it can keep him going when he returns to Andy tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**My accuracy on both dyslexia and rehabilitation are a bit shoddy here. So apologies for that. And this chapter is a bit wishy-washy I'm afraid… I struggled with it a bit. **

**XOXOXOX**

He's awoken by the touch of lips, tentative and testing and hesitant against his neck. The wispy strands of Steven's messed-up hair tickle his chin and lips and underneath his nose, Steven's leg still draped across Brendan's body as it was last night. Steven's head fits perfectly in the crook of Brendan's shoulder blade, like it was always supposed to be there. Or like during their countless nights of lying just like this, he'd moulded his own cushion into Brendan's skin.

Brendan keeps his eyes shut as Steven becomes more sure of himself in what he's doing. His lips feel incredibly familiar against Brendan's skin; his caress touchingly innocent. Brendan used to wake up to this back in Hollyoaks in the dead of night, and the sweetness of Steven's kisses would always alarm him juxtaposed against the rough, relentless fucking that had usually preceded a few hours prior.

He smiles, brings his fingers to Steven's hair and strokes softly his appreciation. Steven feels fragile underneath his touch. It occurs to Brendan that this is his second chance after everything… his second chance to look after the man who presents himself as so strong, but can crumble so majorly.

Steven's hand traces softly up the inside of Brendan's shirt, and his fingers feel the hair on Brendan's chest. Brendan had almost forgotten – almost forgot to appreciate – Steven's smaller gestures like this. The way his fingers would tangle idly in Brendan's body hair, the way his legs would wrap tightly around Brendan's like a coil. The way he always snuggled _so _close, as though he could never get close enough.

Brendan presses an intimate appreciative kiss to the top of Steven's head, consumed with fondness.

But Steven has other ideas.

Brendan feels Steven's hand sliding underneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms. He feels Steven's breath hitched in anticipation against his neck. He feels Steven hardening against his leg.

And his heart starts to hammer.

Fuck.

He can't say no to this. There is no way on Gods earth that if Steven wanted to grind himself on Brendan's cock right now, Brendan could refuse him. He so wants to be with him again, to reacquaint what they had, to be inside him and be his completely. He wants Steven more than he ever thought it possible to want another person.

On a couple of nights in prison he had tried to recreate this through use of another small prisoners body, but it had never been the same. Those were the worst nights he remembers – fucking a random, telling him to leave, and then feeling that cold dank emptiness. The hard-hitting realisation that what he had with Steven, he will never _ever _have again. Life would never be the same for him.

"Fuck Steven," He sighs, as Steven's hand wraps around his dick. He's already so hard. It's been so long, so terribly long, and he wants him so much he aches with it. "Come here,"

He peels himself from the mattress, positions himself above Steven. The lads eyes are glazed over with lust and need, mirroring exactly what Brendan feels. Sex has never and will never be with anyone like what it is between them. And even with the scars on Steven's thighs and the bruises on his arm, in this moment nothing has changed as their tongues move against each other, and their erections grind tantalisingly together.

Steven's legs wrap tight around Brendan's back as he whispers, "I want you."

"Hm," Brendan responds, swallows, already breathless.

"I need you to fuck me, Brendan."

Really, this is exactly what Steven _doesn't _need. But Brendan is helpless to be logical right now. He doesn't think about Steven's conflicted feelings for him, and he doesn't think about what went wrong between them, and he doesn't think about how Steven's body was used during the helpless pit of his overdose. To think of those things will be to make what they're doing _wrong, _but it feels so _right. _

He's going to make this all better. He and Steven will be together like they were, and Brendan will heal every wound and mend every break in his boys heart and soul. He will be on-guard like he wasn't last time. He will protect him from harms way.

Which is why, when the faint sounds of scuffling from outside fill his ears… he pulls away from Steven's intoxicating embrace.

"What's up?" Steven asks groggily, legs still wrapped around Brendan and kissed lips open and red.

"D'ye hear that?" Brendan asks.

"No…"

It's more clear now. Footsteps shifting around outside the walls of this flat. Mens voices talking hurridly. Leering, jeering, egging each other on. Too close to the flat for Brendan's comfort, and showing no signs of moving.

It's the loud SHATTER of smashing glass that spurs Brendan into action.

As he legs it from the bedroom, he can just hear Steven cry a shaken, "What were that?!" but Brendan has already reached the living room before the lad's even stirred into sitting position.

Brendan's large living room window is shattered. A brick lies on the floor, smashed through his glass coffee table. The sheers are scattered across the wooden floorboards.

"The fuck…" He breathes.

He bursts out of the front door. The cold is bitter, and he's only in boxers and a t-shirt. His bare feet sting with the cold of steel as he runs down the staircase… can hear feet running just below him. He'll catch and beat the fuckers, but when he gets to the ground below there's nobody there. Just a battered shit excuse for a car swerving off into the distance. A blokes middle finger waves out of the passenger seat window. The horn blows furiously, and an undistinguishable voice muffled by the noise screams, "FUCK YOU!".

When Brendan gets back to his flat, Steven is standing in the centre of the living room. The brick is tucked underneath his left arm. A crumpled piece of paper is scrunched up in the fist of his right.

"Mother-fuckers." Brendan breathes, observing the mess of his broken window. It creates a blast of frozen air all over them.

"Bren," Steven whispers. He holds the piece of paper out.

Of course.

If he'd had time to think about it, it would have been obvious.

Brendan looks into the estate listing of his own flat… his own mobile number scrawled at the top. The information he'd left with Steven at the council estate just days beforehand.

"It was wrapped round the brick." Steven says apologetically, "I just… I must've left it there, I'm sorry."

"S'okay." Brendan grumbles, but it's not really. He can't help the feeling of irritation chew at his insides. Will cost a fucking fortune to get that window fixed. And alongside the ridiculous price of a private rehab, that's another expense he doesn't need.

"Did you see him?" Steven asks, "Andy?"

"There were a whole bunch of 'em. They went off in a car."

"A whole bunch?" Steven seems to pale.

"It's okay." Brendan says, looks Steven dead in the eye to make sure he's listening, "Hey? It's okay. I'm here, aren't I?"

"…Yeah…"

Steven chews nervously on the nail of his middle finger. It's a nervous thing… not new… but he never went as far as biting the nails _off_ before, only playing with them. For the first time Brendan notices that his nails are now non-existent.

"So they can throw a brick," Brendan dismisses, "So what?"

"Yeah but… it's a warnin' though, innit?"

"You're not worried, Steven, are ye?"

"You don't know what they're like!"

Brendan scoffs. Couldn't give even the tiniest shit about those clowns.

"I know their type." He says flatly.

"Look, this is what I were worried about, right?" Ste replies, "This is why I need to go back – they're not gonna…"

"Woah, woah, woah. Go back?!"

"Yeah…"

"The only place you're goin' is a fucking rehab; we're not gonna be scared off by a bunch of crack-heads who need to psyche each other up to throw a god damn brick."

He grabs a broom from the kitchen and starts sweeping the shattered glass of his coffee table.

"Watch your feet." He grunts, and prods Steven's bare feet with the broom.

Steven steps back silently.

He just watches Brendan for a moment or two… seemingly lost in thought. The intensity of their encounter in the bedroom is gone. Reality is upon them, and now it's more clear than ever that what they were going to do was too much… too soon. There's too much shit going on without adding their _relationship_ into the mix, which is and always was a head-fuck of its own.

"I don't want to go to rehab, Bren." Steven croaks eventually.

Brendan takes a deep breath. He knew this was coming – Steven's a stubborn bugger, and the idea of being sectioned off for 28 days is hardly an appealing one in anybody's book. It was only a matter of time before Steven refused, but Brendan's not taking 'no' for an answer. He's not going to sit back and watch Steven pump himself full of shit any longer, and there's no argument to be had about it.

So he ignores him. Focuses his attention on the glass on the floor. Focuses his attention on counting down the minutes… because in 13 of them, the rehab will open and Brendan can call and make their appointment official. He can start actually _doing _something other than being confused and powerless and hopelessly, unhelpfully in love.

Steven uses the silence as an opportunity for appeal, like he can somehow change Brendan's mind.

"I know what them places are like, right? And… they just poke ya and prod ya, and then leave ya to rot. And I can be left to rot _here_, without you dishin' out thousands of pounds."

"I'm not strong enough to stop you injecting." Brendan says heavily. He remembers the way Steven screamed and cried and hit him. His whole body shaking with the need for a fix – like he'd die without one, and probably by killing himself. Brendan doesn't want to see him like that again, and if he does it will only end the same way. There's something inside him that can't bear to see Steven suffer, which is why there's now a stash of heroin in this very flat, ready for when Steven next needs it.

"You don't have to. I will stop."

Brendan scoffs, a hard biting laugh, before a doubtful, "Yeah."

"I _will_. I don't wanna go through that again, do I? What happened with Andy an' Gordon."

"You said yourself. You can't help it."

"Yeah but I _will_ though."

It's feeble and Steven knows it. Even as he says it his voice wavers, like he's giving up. Perhaps he's too tired to fight. Perhaps he's already feeling the itch in his skin for another fix. Brendan readies himself. It was hard enough watching him yesterday… wincing in sadness as the needle pierced Steven's skin with a pop, and his eyes glazed over. The needle had gone in somewhere between all the scabs and bruises that pre-existed there. It made Brendan's skin crawl, and he wasn't usually faint-hearted.

It was with a casual attitude that Steven did it. It wasn't for attention and it wasn't even for pleasure, or any reason at all. It was pure habit. Procedure. And it will continue to be so until Brendan helps him sort it.

XOXOXOXOX

"Yeah, hi. I want to book someone in for private rehabilitation."

"Okay. And what is your name, Sir?"

"Brendan Brady. I'm… calling on behalf of Steven Hay."

"Please hold."

As the god-awful elevator music starts to chime down the phone, Brendan busies himself in the paperwork that litters the bedroom. Not _work_ paperwork – although that is what he consciously aims for. It's his subconscious that makes him dig out his things from prison… the postcards from Cheryl and the photographs of Declan and Padraig and Steven.

And the two letters that Steven had written to him when he was at the very end of hope for being able to contact him any other way.

The first letter trembles in Brendan's fingers as he holds it. Behind bars, he'd forced himself not even to read it… but his self-will hadn't been strong enough. He still remembers it; the day he peeled open the envelope and was forced to face the scribbly handwriting of the man he ACHED with the pain of missing. It had been like all the air was extinguished him; Steven's presence pouring out of his written words, and stabbing Brendan with grief.

_Brendan,_

_Iv got to rite to you now. cos for yor own stupid reeson you wont let me see you._

_I mis you so much. And I need you to let me see you. I wory about you evrey day. I want to talk about wot you said about yor dad. You cant just say sumthing like that and then not speek to me! _

_Your driving me mad and im not gona stop trying __ever__ so your just making me madder. Your being selfish and a barsted. I no about Walker. I no about evryfing. _

_Please stop doing this._

_I love you so much._

_After you read this – aproove my visit. _

_Ste._

_PS: This took me fukin forever to rite – dont make me regret it._

"Mr Brady… Mr Brady?"

Brendan blinks; realises that the womans voice is squawking irritably at him down the phone.

"Sorry… yeah." He mutters, and massages his forehead with a low sigh.

"We have a space to sign in this week. Check in when it's good for you and go on from there."

"We want it as soon as possible."

"Well there's an induction slot today at 4.30pm."

"Yeah." Brendan says firmly, "We'll be there."

He hangs up the phone immediately. It's stupid, but reading this letter makes him miss Steven all over again. It brings back those feelings of conflicted pain, frustration and futility. He knew at the time that he was bringing Steven hurt, but he was so _sure _it was for the best. Tortured himself by reading the letter every single night, but continuing to answer "no" when the officers told him Steven Hay had filed for visiting rights.

Now Steven's back in his life… and Brendan is shipping him off to some clinic before they've even had time to talk things through properly. To work out their feelings for each other. Or explain.

And maybe this is him just fucking up all over again. This is him _forcing _control on Steven's life – _again – _when it's Steven who really can know what's best for him.

He can't shake the feeling.

Not even when Steven's in the car beside him, still numb from his latest fix, on the way to the clinic.

He's quiet and just staring out of the window, like he's accepted the fate Brendan has forced upon him. Docile, like when he laid in Andy's bed waiting for further instruction. The submissiveness of a man who gave up on himself some time ago.

Brendan keeps stealing glances at him… half-hoping to catch his eye and exchange some sort of smile or wink with him.

But Steven just looks on blankly.

"You errr… " Brendan coughs, clears his throat. "You had enough to eat, or d'ye wanna stop before we get there?"

"No, I'm fine." Steven says – because he eats fuck all these days.

"They'll have food there anyway." Brendan says… and then inwardly winces. Jesus – he sounds so _awkward_. His voice is sodden in the guilt he is feeling.

"It's gonna be nice." He continues, trying to ease the tension, "I saw on the website they got… they've got a lake and wooded trails and… stuff like that…."

He trails off feebly.

"Wooded trails?" Steven repeats … the tiniest suggestion of a smirk in his tone.

Brendan smiles. "Yeah, I know how much you love them wooded trails. That's why I chose this place."

"They got a rainbow and a wishing well n'all?"

"No, but I got ye a room with rainbow wallpaper – how's that?"

"Gay as fuck." Steven smiles, eyes glinting mischievously.

"It's called the _Gay As Fuck _room, funnily enough. I had them clear it out especially. There was some daddy-bear in there, but he's gone now."

"Lots of man meat there, is there?"

"Tons."

"Won't be so bad then, will it?"

"Hey." Brendan shoots back warningly.

As the car stirs back into silence he realises his mistake. Steven's not his boyfriend. So caught up in the exchange he was, Brendan forgot that fact, and that he's not allowed to even jokingly _allude _to the idea that Steven can't see other people. Christ. And now it's strained again. All the things they _STILL _so desperately need to discuss suffocate them in the space.

He slams down on the brakes without plan or preparation, and their bodies are thrown forward.

"What were that for?!" Ste snaps, sulkily rubbing his neck.

"What do ye wanna do?" Brendan asks. Steven looks at him blankly, so he pushes on; "C'mon what do ye wanna do?! You don't wanna go to this fuckin' place, so if you could do _anythin' _right now… _anything _in the world… what would it be?"

"I don't know." Steven says with automatic defensiveness.

"Well I'm tellin' ye to _think_ about it. C'mon, what?!"

"I _dunno _Brendan!

"I'm not gonna force ye to go to this place if you don't want to, Steven."

"Wha…!" Steven splutters, "What you bein' such a scitzo for?!"

"I'm not bein' scitzo!" Brendan sighs, exasperated, "I just don't like seeing you sit there all fucking miserable like I'm shipping you off to some Asylum."

"Right, so if I coulddo _anything _in the world?" Steven asks.

"Yeah."

"Anything? And you'll help me do it?"

"I'll try. C'mon – what is it?"

"I wanna forget everything." Steven says simply, "I wanna snort a load of coke and take a loada pills and get so fucked I can't even see straight. And that's what I want, Brendan, more than anything."

His words are spoken with painful straight-forwardness.

They're spoken with the intention to make Brendan hurt, but at the same time he can't help feel there's a huge amount of truth in them too.

Brendan looks at him for another moment, as though _praying _Steven's face will break into a big goofy grin that says '_just kidding!'_.

But of course, he doesn't, and Brendan draws a heavy moaning sigh and his head hits the steering-wheel despairingly.

From his position he vaguely hears Steven light up a cigarette. Steven takes a long inhale, and then says slowly, "So come on then. You set up this meetin', so lets go to it."

"There's no point going to rehab if you don't wanna get clean." Brendan mutters darkly. "You have to _want _it, not be forced into it."

"People force me to do all kinds of things. At least this way I can clear me head."

"And what if you stay with me? Can I not help you do that?"

He's genuinely curious. He wants what's best for Steven – always has. He can't trust his own judgement on what's best anymore though; _needs _Steven's guidance.

"No." Steven says quietly. "I'm supposed to hate you."

"And don't ye?"

Steven thinks about it for a second. His eyes shine over, conflicted.

"I don't think so." He whispers eventually.

"And that's why ye need to clear your head?"

"I need to clear my head cos I think I still love you, and that's fucked up." He says, voice trembling with the efforts to hold back tears. "And I wanna get clean so I know what's drugs and what's not. And then maybe I won't need your help anymore."

Brendan has no words for that.

His heart jitters nervously though with the declaration that Steven's just made… and the precious fragility of it. He still loves him. After everything, a part of Steven still gives itself over to Brendan. And it's _that_ part of him that Brendan can nurture, and fix him with. He knows, because that's exactly how Steven fixed _him _all those years ago.

"Lets just go to the meeting." He says carefully, giving away no feelings so as not to scare Steven off. "See what they say, then you can make up your mind."

"Okay." Steven replies, with equally quiet carefulness.

Brendan starts the car again, all momentary thoughts of spontaneous road-trips out of the window. Back to Plan A. Get Steven clean, and _then _work out all the other shit.

"You better not be lyin'," Steven says lightly as the car takes off again, "About that rainbow room."

XOXOXOXOX

The next few hours are a series of meetings and hand-shakes and procedure-talks and booklets and leaflets and tours. Forms are filled out and intrusive personal questionnaires answered, and on too many occasions Brendan had to struggle to write down his relationship to Steven, as his emergency contact.

The clinic lives up to its expensive price, but even the luxurious décor and swimming pools and games rooms can't hide the fact that the place is stale and like a prison. A woman leads him and Steven to a bedroom, and it's generously spacious with a comfortable double bed and window over-looking the fields. The setting is undeniably beautiful, but Brendan can't imagine Steven here.

"What do ye think?" He mumbles quietly as Steven runs his fingers thoughtfully across the bed post.

"It's alright, innit?" Steven replies. He sounds deliberately upbeat, when the situation gives him no reason to be.

"If you hate it I want you to say."

"What's the hate? S'proper posh; I never lived anywhere like here before."

Brendan can't work out why Steven's being so positive. Whether he has an ulterior motive, whether he's genuinely decided to turn his life around, or whether for some reason he wants to please Brendan.

Or maybe just get away from him.

"I'm gonna miss ye, if you stay here." Brendan says, his teeth gritting a tad with the old deeply-ingrained urge to repress anything too emotional.

Steven snorts, "I've only been stayin' with you a couple of days. And we've most argued."

"I know but… y'know."

There's a silence for a moment while Brendan looks out at the endless fields and quiet and serenity. Steven would get bored here in a matter of seconds, and Brendan can't see him getting much time on the X-Box judging by that rough-looking skinhead they'd seen attached to the controls earlier.

"No, y'know what?" He says, "Lets just go back. This is stupid. _I _can help ye get clean; we can do it together."

"Brendan!" Ste says, and then softly, "You're not gonna lose me y'know. I'm gonna let you visit."

Brendan hadn't even considered that. What if that's what Steven's doing? Revenge? A taste of Brendan's own medicine? Brendan refused access, not knowing how Steven's holding up, being expected to continue life as usual despite the huge void.

"I need time. To work things out." Steven says simply.

Brendan shuffles awkwardly on his feet. The desperation _not _to leave him here is overwhelming. They've _only just _come back into each others lives for fuck sake.

"Are we even gonna talk about what happened this morning?" He asks gruffly. He fixes his eyes firmly on the floor, vulnerable and open for Steven to destroy with one harsh bitter line.

Steven nods. A promise that yes, they will. But not now.

This is another subject, along with the other heavy looming subjects of Walker and Seamus and Andy, that will all have to be covered at a later date.

"I'm gonna be strong." Steven says. And his voice for the first time sounds so young and delicate… like he could break. But he doesn't. There's a determination in him… something that wants to take control back. It's the closest thing to old Steven that Brendan has seen.

And so Brendan leaves him.

And it's awful as he drives away, looking into a big building and not having a clue what's going to happen to Steven inside. But at least this way he's away from Andy and his threats. And away from Brendan and his inadvertent head-fuckery. At least this way, if he decides he needs Brendan out of his life, he can do so with clear head.

Brendan parks halfway home, and can't help but pull out the second letter that Steven wrote him when he was in prison. It's been tucked in his jean pocket all day… unable to suffer through it the first time. And all over again there's that messy scrawl that tugs at his gut with longing and pain. Fuck, he misses him again. He wonders what he's doing now.

_Brendan,_

_So this is what it cums to? After EVREYFING we have dun. After evreyfing I gave up for you. You are spineles. I wish I never met you. I wish I dident kid myself that you cared. But evreyone is rite about you._

_You make me hurt and hurt and hurt but im not gona let you anymore. Wen you get out, I wont be yours. Im taking controle of my own life now. You dont get to deside things for me. I wont try and visit you agen. ROT FOR ALL I CARE._

_STEVEN._

Hindsight tells Brendan this letter was written a mere _days _before Steven shot Simon Walker in the head. His tears stain the paper and the word 'rot' has a hole in it, like the pen tore through.

He would have been fucking Walker during this time. Maybe he wrote this while Walker slept. He would have been hating himself for it, but doing it for Brendan… for _them. _

Whilst Brendan continued to shun and deny and torture him.

As far as he's concerned, this letter is dignified. Brendan deserved, and _still does_ deserve, so much worse a punishment.

**XOXOXOX**

**I am going to TRY and wrap this up next chapter. So if there is anything anyone thinks I haven't gone into enough detail on, or if I've forgotten to explain any bits, do tell me. I've been very busy lately, so distracted from this, so I definitely might have dropped the ball a bit.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, you're right. I can't fit everything I need to in one last chapter. I admit I had a way to conclude it, but upon consideration I think I need to give some things a little more time. So this is ****not**** the last chapter!**

**The reason I want to wrap this up is cos I worry about my own ability to conclude things! A lot of people have been messaging about 'the Art of Trying' but I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to wrap it up. Since Seamus came onto the actual show, that fic feels so dated and wrong that I can't really bring myself to go back to it. So I'm really sorry about that – but promise not to let it happen with this one.**

**Thanks to brilliant timing, I have now changed my original plan for Brendan's prison sentence in this, so that it now coincides (almost spookily well) with what's happening on the show. So he went to prison for a sexual assault he didn't commit, and that was the last time he saw Ste before this fic started. **

**This is a really dark chapter. Sometimes I don't even know what the fuck I was thinking. I wasn't planning on writing a flashback chapter like this, but alas, here it is. Warning: Ste/Walker. **

**XOXOXOXOXOX**

"_Brendan Brady, I am arresting you on suspicion of sexual assault and bodily harm. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?"_

"_Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah."_

"_Brendan, what's happening?!" _

"_You can't arrest him!" Ste cries, "He said he ain't done ought wrong!"_

"_Steven, look at me," Brendan says desperately, only limited time before he's dragged into the police car, "Okay? Whatever they're saying is lies, okay?! Trust me!"_

_And then just like that, he's gone. _

_XOXOXOXOX_

"And how did that make you feel?" Asks the therapist, possibly for the fifteenth-thousandth time since Ste's been in rehabilitation, which has only been three days.

He's on a maintenance dose today, which keeps him at least from shaking and crying and throwing up… even if it doesn't have the _complete _satisfaction of his usual fix. He's spent his three days in here _mostly _waiting for them to give into his pleas. That, and staring out to the vast emptiness of the landscape. He's so alone here. So completely wonderfully alone. No Brendan, no Walker, no Andy. Just him.

He'd forgotten what it felt like… to be just him.

It's strange. And so completely liberating. It's the first time he's been living for _himself, _and not for anybody else. It's the first time he feels like he's _breathed _in… years.

"Scared." He whispers.

"What was it that scared you?"

"I was scared I were gonna lose him." Ste says. "Not to prison though. I didn't think he'd get sent down. But he went all… you know when people's eyes gloss over and it's like they're slippin' away. And I were scared, cos of that."

"Because you felt he was slipping away from you. Mentally."

"Because I didn't care then if he went to prison, cos at least then he'd still be mine. But if he went to that place… y'know… in his head… then he wouldn't be mine anymore. Felt like that… I mean."

He swallows. Remembers vaguely how terrified he always was of that black pit of Brendan's mind. How it was the thing Ste was constantly fighting against… trying to pull him away from. How Brendan's mental state _consumed _Ste, like his own life depended on Brendan being happy.

"And I was scared." He breathes again.

Doesn't ever remember a time when he _wasn't _scared.

XOXOXXOXOXXOXO

_14 DAYS AFTER._

"_I don't understand." He whispers. _

"_None of us do, love." Cheryl sighs, "We just have to… we have to support Brendan now. Not think about 'why' or 'what if'. Just… we just have to be there for him while he's inside, yeah? You and me."_

"_That's easy for __you__ to say, Cheryl."_

"_Look, soon as he's got his head together, he'll want to see you."_

"_Yeah, and when will that be?! When has Brendan EVER gotten his shit together?!" _

"_Well you can't blame him for being stressed, Ste; he's been locked up for something he hasn't done!"_

_Ste sighs, runs his hands frustratedly through his hair, feels his fingers tremble with the struggle of not tearing his own head off._

"_I know this is hard on you, sweetheart." Cheryl says softly. "But he'll come round."_

_He doesn't want to cry… not in front of Cheryl. He has to be strong for her, like Brendan told him to. Some of the last words Brendan ever said to him before this painful two-week silence. That, and that Ste should go and 'find someone else'. _

_It hurts. It tears at his insides, knowing that Brendan is agonising and vindicated and trapped for something he didn't do, and he's alone and he NEEDS Ste. Ste's determined to make him see… make him realise that Ste will NEVER EVER leave him. Not now, after everything._

_But the bastard is so stubborn, Ste can't even get through the door._

"_Can you tell him?" He croaks tearfully to Cheryl as she climbs into the car that'll take her to her approved prison visit. "Can you tell him I miss him? And that I don't want anyone else."_

"_I'll tell him, love."_

_He sniffs, bottom lip shaking as he suppresses tears._

"_Make him listen."_

_Cheryl gives him a smile that looks as though it's supposed to be firm and reassuring… but it isn't. It's like she already knows his case his hopeless. Like she's hiding things from him. _

"_I'll try my best." She assures._

_But that's not enough. _

_XOXOXOXOXOXOX_

_15 DAYS AFTER._

_He'd only left the house for fifteen minutes. _

_He'd just wanted milk._

_Fifteen minutes, but when he comes back the front door is off its hinges, and the strange thing is, he doesn't even fucking care. Nothing here to burgle. Nobody here to disturb. Just Ste on his own, and everybody around him gone, and everything around him growing dust. _

_He walks into the flat blankly, barely even registering the disturbance. Not even a sigh escapes his lips._

_Until he comes face to face with Simon Walker. _

_And the milk drops from his hands, and his blood runs cold, and his knees buckle in terror because in that split second he __knows__ this is it. Walker is like a recurring nightmare… a zombie risen from the dead… a ruthless hurricane which ripped Brendan out of Ste's life. _

_And it all makes sense for the first time. _

_Of__course__ this was all Walker's work. Who else would it have been? And now he's here to drain the life from Ste's veins, just as he tried before, only this time with no Brendan to stop him. _

_Before Ste can ever see Brendan, and remind him that he loves him. _

"_Hello Steven," Walker smiles – and Ste's so disorientated… mind so clouded by Brendan Brendan Brendan for hours upon hours upon days and days… that it almost sounds exactly like him. _

_And he finds himself smiling. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOX

The therapist wants him to write a letter to Brendan. He doesn't have to send it, she says. He just needs to write down everything he _wants_ to say, even if he can't. She wants him to pour his heart out into it. Maybe that way they can get to the root of where his dependency comes from. And at this point Ste gets confused about whether she's talking about his dependency for drugs or his dependency for Brendan. It's all a bit confusing really. He's starting to think this really is some hippy camp, and not for him at all.

He fucking hates writing, probably more than anything in the whole world, so for about an hour he just sits there stubbornly looking at the blank page.

Funny, the last time he wrote anything proper, that was to Brendan as well. And he ended it with the words _'rot for all I care'. _He remembers, looking back, the cold hard utter fury. He remembers cradling the gun in his left hand as he scribbled with his right. He'd had the gun for a week and he'd been praying that he wouldn't have to use it, because Brendan would re-enter his life and drag Ste out of this hypnotic revenge-consumed mental state.

But Brendan never got in touch, and Ste wrote the letter knowing he was about to become a murderer, and Brendan was essentially – albeit unwittingly – allowing that to happen.

With his new-found sense of calm, Ste writes today without the anger that consumed him the last time. His whole letter is incredibly short, but he does pour his heart out. He pours _everything _into it.

Just five words. '_why did you leeve me?'_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXXOX

"_This house is a mess." Walker comments, running his fingers lazily along the countertop. There's dirty plates there… one of them Brendan's from over two weeks ago. Ste's left it, though he convinces himself it's not for sentimental reasons, but stubborn ones. Brendan can bloody fucking clean it himself, just as soon as he comes home. Because he __is__ coming home._

"_Get out." Ste breathes. His tone is cold and steady, juxtaposed with the hammering of his heart._

"_So soon?" Walker leers, "I've only just got here!"_

"_Look, I mean it, right, I got people comin' round in a few minutes and you're supposed to be dead. S'gonna look a bit weird, innit?"_

_He's improvising. In danger of babbling – mind working a mile a minute. _

"_Which people?" Walker says, with a smirk. Mocking him._

"_Cheryl." Ste says, and swallows hard. "And Nate."_

"_Well I do love a good reunion." _

_What happens next happens in a matter of seconds. Walker leans forward, and Ste legs it – adrenaline and impulse making him soar towards the front door. He has the benefit of surprise-factor on his side, and manages to wrench the door open before Walker has even worked out what's happening._

_But Walker is faster. And stronger. Ste only vaguely senses the cold air of outdoors before firm arms wrap around his neck and drag him backwards, back into the flat. He can't even scream out because the hands are choking him. He can do nothing but struggle… his efforts bringing them both down to the ground, where Walker continues to hold him in a strangle-lock._

"_Easy Steven," He breathes. His breath feels dirty and violating in Ste's ear… contaminating all over the back of his neck. "Easy, easy."_

_He's helpless. He can hardly move. And there's nobody here to save him. Nobody to even notice that he's gone._

_And so tears are already drizzling powerlessly down his cheeks as he croaks, "What're you gonna do to me?" _

"_I think you know the answer to that, Ste."_

"_No please!"_

"_You think I forgot what Brendan did to me? How he took the one thing out of my life that meant anything to me? You thought I'd decided to let that go, did you?"_

_Ste struggles again, but is overpowered completely. He's got nothing on Walker's strength… can barely even move his arms as one of them is pinned between his own body and the floor, and the other held tightly behind his own back. Walker lies alongside him, his forehead pressed against the back of Ste's head as he whispers his morbid motive._

"_Brendan knew I'd be back." He says quietly, "Just goes to show, doesn't it? He only cares about himself." _

"_We speak on the phone all the time," Ste whimpers desperately, "He'll know somethin's wrong if I don't call tonight. He'll tell the police."_

"_DON'T!" Walker says, voice snapping in dangerous fury. Ste tenses against his anger… terrified by it. But Walker takes a deep breath, calms himself, and speaks softly again, "Don't… lie… to… me." _

"_I'm not…" His voice wavers uncertainly, as Walker brings a piece of paper up in Ste's face. _

_He was scrunching it in his palm the whole time… and loosens his grip ever so slightly on Ste's neck to show him… his own letter. The one he'd written this morning. His desperate loving plea to Brendan, which exposes to Walker just how alone he is right now._

"_Oh, 'please stop doing this Brendan'." Walker mimics the heartfelt words scrawled on the piece of paper… and in this moment, Ste knows Brendan will never read them. "'Please love me'… you do know Brendan Brady's incapable of that emotion, now don't you?"_

_Ste doesn't have an answer for that. There's no reasoning with a man this far gone… a man as unhinged as Simon Walker is. What's even more alarming is that he's enjoying this… that as Ste struggles, and Walker restrains him, Ste can feel a hardening erection pushing into his lower back. _

"_Oh God, please let me go." He whispers hurriedly, breaths hitching to an alarmingly fast rate. "Kay, you're right – Brendan doesn't care about me so… so you doin' this… it's not gonna do anything… he won't care…"_

_His own words are like stabs in the chest. Hard, painful, crippling. Like somewhere in his gut, he believes them to be true. _

"_Shhhh, shh, shh, shh," Walker calms him, and his hand reaches and strokes the sweaty strands of hair off Ste's forehead. Ste flinches away, but only flinches back into Walker himself, whose lips move against Ste's head as he reflects, "… It must be painful, loving a monster."_

_It sounds like a genuine musing. Like him holding Ste down on the floor, readying to kill him, is an every-day occurrence. _

"_I'm doing you a favour, I reckon." He concludes. _

"_Just do it then." Ste croaks, teeth grit in the agony of addressing his own murder, "C'mon, just do it." _

"_You have to promise to stay still." Walker says. And already, his arms are loosening around Ste's body._

_Ste says nothing in return, but they both know he's not going anywhere. To try and run again would be futile. And Ste just wants it over with now. He's too beaten down by it all… to fucking drained… to even consider any other option. _

_The only movement he makes is to turn his body over and face the photoframes on the windowsill… so at least his last memories can be happy ones._

_He stares into Leah's bright-eyed grin, with ice-cream all round her lips and nose and cheeks. He stares into Lucas's sleeping figure, wrapped in the bundle of Ste's hoody on the sofa… tiny and beautiful and perfect. _

_Vaguely he can hear Walker moving around the flat behind him, but he tries to shut it out._

_He stares into the picture of himself and Amy and Leah… who look so alike. And both Amy and Leah are planting wet kisses on each of Ste's cheeks. And then the one of Brendan, with Leah lifted in his arms like she's weightless as she plants the exact same kiss on him, and he smiles goofily like he only ever did rarely. _

_A single tear dribbles miserably down his cheek, as Walker moves in front of him and obstructs his view._

_He bends down to Ste on the floor and holds a mobile out as he says, "Any last words? Present for Brendan, when he gets home."_

_Of course. This form of torture for Brendan wouldn't be complete without him having to witness Ste's terrified, tear-filled goodbye. And knowing Brendan, he __will__ watch it. He'll force himself. Same way he constantly punishes himself like he's deserving of it. _

_Ste shakes his head, but that's not good enough and he knows it. He hears the phone beep as Walker presses record. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to look into the phone as he already imagines Brendan's heartbreak four years on, when he finally comes home. _

"_Come on, Steven." Walker presses, "This is the last thing you're gonna get to say to him."_

_He doesn't have any words… no last words at all. Everything's clouded by fear and adrenaline. And when he glances up at the phone, all he can see is Walker's squatting legs, spread wide apart as he's bent on the floor, and the bulge in his jeans growing ever more prominent as his mental torture turns him on. _

_He's a sick fuck. A sick fuck who makes Ste's skin physically crawl as he drags his eyes from Walker's jeans to Walker's watchful eyes. _

_Ste doesn't really know what his plan is as he pulls himself from the floor. But in his surprise, Walker allows the phone to be pushed out of sight, and his mouth opens compliantly as Ste forces their lips together. He could choke on the taste of it… the disgust in himself… but somewhere inside of him he's fighting for survival. _

_It's Walker who deepens the kiss, as if maybe he's come up with a new impromptu plan as well. He brings the camera up to film them both as he lowers Ste back to the floor, and PUSHES his tongue so it's almost suffocating, right down into Ste's mouth. _

_This isn't foreplay… this is power-play. But whatever it is, it's prolonging Ste's life right now, and that takes reign over everything. _

_As Walker pulls away, his eyes are shining in disbelief and amusement, and he mutters, "You really are a sick little bastard, aren't you? It's all making sense to me now." _

"_Just enjoying being single." Ste says breathlessly, and it sounds like somebody else saying it._

_It is somebody else. Like in a matter of seconds, in this bid to stay alive, Ste pushed his right mind into oblivion and replaced it with a mind that's numb and calculating. It's this other mind that forces Ste's fingers to the fly of Walker's jeans and drags it downwards. It's this other Ste that lies compliantly on the floor as Walker pushes his hard cock into his mouth. The other Ste that allows this act to be filmed… and doesn't cry. _

_It's this other Ste that sucks like his life depends on it – because it does – and even finds some kind of satisfaction in the way Walker moans and hisses. It's those moans that Walker emits that puts Ste back in control. He's taken reign. He's got Walker at his mercy._

_Perhaps, even now, this other Ste knows that one day he'll kill Simon Walker._

_This other Ste makes the dangerous deal with Simon Walker; Brendan won't be out of prison for 4 years, so they have that long before any drastic murderous measures have to be taken. Walker has time; doesn't need to kill today. Not when there's so much Ste has to offer him, and his plan. _

_They seal it like a fucked-up business deal, with the swallowing of cum rather than the shaking of hands._

_But as soon as Walker left, this other Ste dies… and the real Ste's back… a broken, torn, violated mess of tears and body-wrenching sobs on the floor. _

_With nobody here to hold him._

_XOXOXOXOXOXOX_

_19 DAYS AFTER._

_He hasn't left the house in five days. He's had two calls in that time – one from Cheryl:_

"_No love, he hasn't said anything about you. I don't know… he's doing that thing where he pretends like it's not happening. There's not much I can do about it, sweetheart. But how about you come round here tonight, eh? Movie night or something."_

_He'd said yes, but he hadn't bothered showing up. And Cheryl had been too busy with Nate to even notice his absence. _

_The other call was from Doug:_

"_Okay, look, I know you're really upset and everything and I get it. But are you ever thinking of coming back to work?! Look, Ste, I'm worried about you, okay, this is not like you."_

"_You don't need to worry about me, Doug." Ste says flatly._

"_I'm gonna come over."_

"_No!" Ste doesn't want him seeing the state of the place… or the state of him. He doesn't want anyone seeing him right now, because it makes what he's done to himself all the more real. He can't bear to see the shock on their faces. _

"_I just wanna be alone Doug, alright?! You're bein' dead weird and possessive – what's the matter with ya?!"_

"_I'm not being weird at all, I'm being a __friend__!" _

"_You're bein' a freak about it! Look, we're not friends; we're business partners and I don't need you comin' round here throwin' your weight around."_

_There's a silence on the other end of the line. Doug is stung._

"… _alright fine." He says after a while. _

"_Is that all?!" Ste snaps, burying the guilt he feels underneath a cold aggressive tone._

"_Yeah. I guess I'll see you when I see you then."_

_It's Doug who hangs up the phone._

_Ste concludes to see him never. He doesn't want to go back to work anyway. It seems so worthless and bleak now – he's got no kids to make money for, no family to impress, no boyfriend to give freebies to._

_His letter to Brendan had gone ignored, despite the loving frankness of it. He'd said he loved him, he'd asked him to approve the visit. But when he'd called the prison, he'd simply been met with the same fucking response, "I'm sorry, your visiting rights have been denied."_

"_NO!" Ste had screamed this time, unable to bear it. He still had the taste and smell of Walker on him, polluting the flat, "NO! Check again! Ask again! You've got it wrong – have you even __asked__ him?!"_

"_Sir, we've followed the regular procedure, and your visit has been denied. I'm sorry." _

_Never in his life had he felt so out of control. And that was saying something. He felt like he was scratching desperately at a forever-bolted door. But he couldn't live, couldn't breathe, couldn't go on until he was able to walk through it. His whole body throbbed with the need to see Brendan, and to speak to him. The empty space that Brendan used to fill was huge, and now it's black and empty and all consuming._

_Ste had thrown the phone, hard, at the photoframes. The one of Brendan and Leah had shattered with the impact, and the glass that scattered all across the floor._

_Ste only remembers hearing indistinct noise in his ear, and his vision was blurred with tears, and he'd lifted one of those pieces of glass and for some reason or other he'd pierced into his thigh with it, and dragged it down._

_And he'd done it again and again. His head was a mess and there were no coherent thoughts as such, but he knew half of this was spite for Brendan… 'look at me now, Bren. Is this what you wanted all along, eh?!'… and the other half was the need to feel, the need to DO SOMETHING and make an impact._

_His fingers trembled terribly and eventually, when all he could see was red, he dropped the glass to the floor, and sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and breathed through the pain. _

_He half-waited for Doug to come. But he knew he wouldn't. _

_And today those scars on his thighs have become hidden under fresh ones from this morning. It wasn't desperate or emotional this morning though… it just felt like some sort of routine. Because he's lost his deli routine, and he's lost all other routine he ever had._

_Now his routine consists of calling the prison, being rejected, and cutting. _

_And when he looks in the mirror, it's not even him looking back at himself. It's somebody with dark-rimmed eyes and ghost-white skin and floppy unwashed hair and chapped lips. _

_And that's why nobody can come here now. Nobody can see him like this._

_This is who he always was, but he disguised it for a while. Now he's stripped back, and this is the real Steven Hay… who he was destined to be from the day he was born into arms that detested him. _

_He always hid this part of him, and knew he was doing it. There was only ever one person in the whole world that Ste saw himself in, and that was Brendan. Because Brendan was always hiding the same exhaustion, self-loathe and bleakness. He hid it under the sharp suit, but Ste saw. It was there. They were monsters together, both wrapped in human skin, but hiding these grotesque corrupted shells beneath, which would alarm everyone in the outside world._

_That's why he loves Brendan. Still._

_That's why he needs to see him and hear him._

_Brendan makes him feel alive, and normal, even if it's just normal to them._

"_This is Brendan Brady. Leave a message."_

_Ste smiles weakly at the sound of Brendan's answer-phone-message. Same as he smiles at it every day… sometimes ten times a day._

"_Hi Bren, it's me!" He adopts a chirpy voice, with the loud energy he always used to use with Brendan, that accentuates his Mancunian accent, "Listen, I'm outta milk and I got like… no food here at all. I'm starved. Will ya pick something up? Love ya! Don't be late!"_

_He hangs up._

_He doesn't even feel silly like he did the first time. He just sits back and waits in the silence… as if thinking that maybe Brendan will turn up with a pizza tucked under his arm._

_He doesn't of course. _

_But Ste will do the same thing tomorrow._

_XOXOXOXOXOXO_

_20 DAYS AFTER. _

_He doesn't know what makes him do it. Weeks of pondering what it was that bought them here… and every time the blame falls in Simon Walker's lap. So here he is, sat in the darkness of the flat, face lit by the white of his computer screen as he desperately searches where to buy a gun._

_He feels ridiculous doing it like this. He should know better than looking on the internet for such a thing… especially as he picked up for Brendan before. He should have gotten that guys number or something… though of course he had no idea then that he'd be here today._

_Reading the words on screen is harder than ever. His dyslexia is in full force, and everything's clouded, so it takes him twice as long as normal to read anything. _

_Eventually he gives up and succumbs to sleep. His head droops onto the keypad and his dreams are filled with dark, ruthless revenge and the hopes that that will fix everything._

_XOXOXOXOXOX_

"How are you feeling this morning?" Asks Fiona, one of the council staff.

"Sick." Ste answers honestly. Sick and shaky, and tired from lack of sleep.

"Well you've got your group session in thirty minutes. You going to be okay for that?"

"No." Ste says immediately, "No, I need some of that maintenance stuff."

"Not today, you don't."

Ste feels his fists clench in annoyance. How the fuck can she know that?

"Yeah I do. Lemme talk to the specialist guy."

"Today is not your day with him, Ste. It's important that we stick to your rota."

"Right, I wanna call Brendan then!" He demands. He feels it again… his heart-rate quickening in panic as he realises he's out of control, that he's not being listened to, that he needs to be taken seriously.

"Ste, you know the rules; no contact with home until you're 10 days into the programme."

"I need to talk to him!"

"You can talk in the group session, okay?" Fiona says patiently, "I promise you that will help. To speak to people who are going through what _you're_ going through."

"Yeah, but they're not though." Ste retorts … and the urge to be with Brendan, to know that _he'll _understand, but to be unable to reach him… it's all too familiar. And he's panicking with it.

"I wanna go home….now… please…" He says. His voice has a shake to it and he climbs from the bed and starts gathering his limited items together.

"Ste, this is a relapse that everybody experiences, but I _promise _that by this afternoon…"

"No, you're not LISTENING! I need to speak to Brendan! I need him to come get me! You need to tell him that I'm here and I want gettin'!"

He's losing it. He can feel himself losing it. Succumbing to the terror of this having happened before. And all that fear and loss he suppressed over the last three years is pouring out of him, and he's screaming, crying.

"I NEED TO SEE 'IM! YOU CAN'T STOP ME SEEING 'IM! YOU CAN'T JUST SAY NO!"

Fiona's left the room and outside of his panic, Ste is vaguely aware of the chaos outside his bedroom. And men come in… doctors, he thinks… and they're grabbing him and telling him to calm down, but he fights against them with all his strength. He's terrified. Memories of being held down, fought against, they're consuming him, and he fights and fights and fights until there's no more strength inside of him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

_23 DAYS AFTER._

_His face is pushed into the pillow and he breathes into it… longs to stay in this position so that Walker can't see the revulsion on his face. _

_Walker is ruthless in fucking him. This is their second round, and Walker's alive with it; Ste's rarely seen a man so vastly determined, so turned on but for all the wrong reasons. Every time he pounds into Ste, he does it for Brendan. Because Walker will stop at nothing – will kill every bit of the man and his life if he can, and he is. Finding out about this will destroy Brendan. _

_But Ste starts to wonder if that's partly why he's doing it too._

"_Fuckkk, Brady sure knows how to pick 'em." He groans after climax, pulls out of Ste and slumps down on the bed beside him._

_Ste goes through that momentary panic in this moment, that Walker might kill him now. He had the same post-cotial fear yesterday… and the day before… _

_But they've still got four years, and Walker seems to be enjoying this form of revenge far too much to end it yet. So Ste allows himself to relax. He forces his face to form a smile, and turns to Walker, gently pushes the hair from Walker's eyes._

"_Lets not talk about Brendan now." He breathes. _

"_You're right; that is a bit of a boner-kill." _

"_I'm gonna go get showered." Ste says, in his best attempt to be breezy. _

"_Can still walk straight, can you?" Walker smirks. He's pleased with himself. _

_Ste can't bear to form another smile, so he simply turns away and pulls himself off the bed. His instinct is to grab some jogging bottoms, cover up, but he knows he has to keep playing the game. To screw up now could be lethal. Walker's enjoying the danger of neither of them trusting one another, but if his suspicions are confirmed that Ste's having him on… he'll surely kill him just for the cheek of it._

_So Ste powers on, and retorts, "We'll have to sort that out with another round, won't we? If you've got it in ya!" _

"_Your unsustainable." Walker sighs, and to Ste's disdain, Walker grabs his wrist and pulls him back to the bed. _

_Ste underestimated just how horny this power-play makes the man, and finds himself fighting to hold back the tears as Walker shifts him to his knees and begins that third encounter._

_XOXOXOXOXX_

_28 DAYS AFTER._

"_Is everything okay?" Cheryl asks him._

_28 days it took, before she finally forced him round here. Now he lies on Brendan's sofa, and there's so many memories that it's mildly comforting, but another part of him feels so far detached from it all that he could be sick. So much has happened in the last 28 days that it's hard to believe he ever once slumped here, happy. _

"_I've just been on your phone." Cheryl continues, "I've been on your sent calls."_

_It doesn't click in Ste's head at first. He's got nobody to call – why would there be anything of interest on there?_

"_Sweetheart, you understand Brendan doesn't have his phone in prison, don't you?"_

"_Yeah." He mumbles. He's exhausted… can't be bothered to explain what's obvious – he only wants to hear Brenan's voice. It's BRENDAN'S fault that he can only hear it via that stupid answerphone-message. Brendan's fault, and Cheryl's for not trying harder to help the situation._

"_There are… hundreds… of sent calls to him on here. Were you… what were you hoping to achieve from this?"_

_He could explain everything to Cheryl now. He could tell her everything. How he needs Brendan more than he ever anticipated in his right state of mind. How he's falling apart. How he's scared. How he's alone. How worthless he feels; how disposable. How her stupid brother will be the death of him, one way or another. How he wishes, despite every wonderful feeling, that he and Brendan had never met – that he was in New York with his family, living a lie, rather than going through all of this._

_How Walker is alive. How he is in a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse with him. How, one day, he's sure he'll snap and kill him… or be killed himself._

_But he doesn't need to tell her that._

_There are numerous sent calls to Walker on that phone._

_And suddenly he's awash with panic, and seizes the mobile off of her, and SCREAMS at her never to touch his stuff. He calls her a nosy cow, a manipulative bitch, a selfish, blind, careless little witch. _

"_Don't you DARE speak to me like that!" She screams, "I have been TRYING to help you!" _

"_HOW HAVE YA?! You're just flying around in little Cheryl-land as USUAL! You… you haven't even TRIED to find out who put Brendan behind them bars! You don't even CARE! You don't even CARE what he's been through, but he'd rather talk to YOU than ME!" _

"_How can you even say that…"_

"_ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOURSELF! You don't care about me __OR__ him!"_

"_And where have YOU been?!" Cheryl demands, "Has it even occurred to you that I might be struggling too?! Has it?!" _

_Ste feels tears sting his eyes. She has no idea. She has Nate. She has Brendan. She has her scum-of-the-earth father… gets to live none-the-wiser to what he's done. Whilst Ste has to carry it around with him every day, without ever having had the chance to talk to Brendan about it. She has everything. She trots around in blissful ignorance to everything and everyone, and she is HAPPY. He's SEEN it. And he wants that too._

"_I'm PREGNANT Ste!" She shouts. "There! So now you know! So FORGIVE me for being a little preoccupied lately!" _

_No. No. But… but that's not fair. Where are HIS kids?! Where are Brendan's kids? Why does she get everything? How can she act like it's a burden or a hardship?! _

_Tears roll down his cheeks now, and he can't hide the fury and bitterness from his voice as he spits, "Congratulations." _

"_Oh, at least say it like you mean it!" _

"_FUCK OFF Cheryl." He shouts. And he grabs his coat and makes his way to the door. _

"_No wait a minute!" She fumes, "I'm not done talking with you, Ste! WHY have you been speaking to Simon Walker?! Do you really hate our Brendan that much?! This is going to DESTROY him – is that what you want?! How can you be so selfish?!"_

_Ste reels… is speechless… can't even process this woman's stupidity. _

_He turns and says the last words he'll ever speak to her. Cold, blank, lifeless words._

"_I hope you have a very nice life Cheryl. Say hi to Brendan for me."_

_But of course she won't. Because she hasn't passed on a SINGLE ONE of Ste's messages to Brendan, and he knows it._

_XOXOXOXOXOX_

_29 DAYS AFTER._

_Today is his last ever attempt to get in touch with Brendan. And if, as he suspects, he is turned away… then he'll take that as everything he needs to know. No other man would be pathetic enough to try a record-breaking 43 times to contact someone in prison, and be turned down every single one of them._

_So when he hears those words again… "I'm sorry, but your visiting request has been denied."… he knows what he has to do. _

_There's a man who can get him a gun. £100,000 is the price, and Ste doesn't know whether he's being mugged off or not, but quite frankly he doesn't care. He has the money Brendan left him, and what better way to spend it than to end it all?_

_He gets a text from Doug as he's on the way to the estate._

_It's the first time Doug's tried to contact him since Ste shot him down ten days ago._

"_Hi. I spoke to Cheryl. We're all really worried about u. Can I come round tonight? X"_

_Ste won't be home tonight. He has plans tonight._

_And he needs to make sure Doug doesn't get in the way of them, so he sends back the only text that can guarantee it… "Stop stalking me and fuck off."_

_He's unsurprised when he doesn't get a reply. _

_XOXOXOXOXOXOX_

All the other patients are talking today about the visitors they're getting tomorrow. There's a lad, Casper – stupid name, but good enough bloke – who says his mum's coming to see him. He says it's the first time his mum has spoken to him in five years, cos she saw him as a disappointment. He pours his fucking heart out about it during the group therapy session.

"I love her, you know?" He says, "But I never showed it. I pushed her away cos of the drugs and that. So… I dunno, like, I just hope she's proud of me."

There's a woman in her mid-30s, who's getting visited by her husband and kids. She's still lucky to have her kids, apparently. She misses them so much, etcetera. She's doing this all for them, she says.

Ste doesn't want to be here tomorrow when there's little kids parading around the place. He doesn't really think this is an appropriate place for them anyway, with all people like him in here. Wasters and human-disasters on every corner – it would scar them for like. If he still had his kids, he'd never allow them to come see him like this.

"And Ste?" Fiona says, "Will you be expecting any visitors tomorrow?"

Ste shrugs his shoulders. He's come to expect nothing, from anyone. It's been nine days – plenty of time for Brendan to have forgotten him, Andy to have replaced him.

Fiona hastily moves on.

_XOXOXOXOXOX_

_30 DAYS AFTER._

"_Well you're a fine little thing, ain't ya?"_

_The man that greets Ste at the door is huge. He's got a shaven head, and tattoos everywhere – even one that runs up his neck. There's a cigarette in his mouth and his persona is so flawlessly confident as he looks Ste up and down._

_Ste feels slightly nervous._

"_Are you Andy?" He asks._

"_That's me."_

"_Oh right. Yeah… we spoke on the phone."_

"_You got the cash?" Andy asks bluntly._

_Ste nods, and holds up the heavily-packed envelope. _

_Andy gives a quick sharp nod of the head to motion Ste indoors. _

_It's a small dingy little flat… not what you'd expect from someone who's picking up £100,000 a time in exchange for weaponry. There's a bunch of guys all sat round on the sofas, all consuming various substances from bongs or baggies. Ste guesses that's where the money must go, then. _

_There's really no space for him to sit, so he just hovers awkwardly in the middle of the room._

"_Nigel, BUDGE OVER for the lad!" Andy barks. _

_One of the blokes shifts begrudgingly… leaving a small space in between him another man. Ste feels exposed and slightly ridiculous as he squeezes in the middle of them. One of them passes him a spliff and he doesn't know whether he's supposed to smoke it or just pass it on._

_Still, Andy distracts him from the matter. He bends to Ste's level and looks at him in scrutiny._

"_And what would a pretty thing like you be needin' a gun for?"_

"_S'none of your business, is it?" Ste speaks back, with a firmness he doesn't feel. Still, his bravado earns him a couple of appreciative chuckles in the room, and a smile from Andy._

_Andy peels the envelope from Ste's fingers, and for a minute Ste fears he's being robbed and there's no gun here at all… till one of the other blokes starts putting one together._

_It's strange… being in the presence of one. It gives him nervous jitters, same as when he picked one up for Brendan. There's that same kind of feeling as when one stands on the top of a big building… and has the urge to jump. Half of him is repelled by the weapon, and the other half just wants to get his hands on it._

"_And where'd you get hold of money like this?" Andy asks, like he's genuinely curious. Maybe even impressed._

_And Ste finds himself __liking__ that he's impressed the man. It's rare that he impresses anybody._

"_I have my ways."_

_Andy's eye glints thoughtfully as he replies, "I'll bet you do."_

_The silent bloke with the gun hands it over to Andy and Andy plays with it in his fingers, like he's taunting Ste with it's close but out-of-reach presence. _

"_You know how to work one of these?" He asks._

"_Yeah." No. Not really._

"_You need one of my boys to come with you?"_

"_No thanks."_

"_How old are you?" Andy asks, catching Ste off guard._

_He decides to lie, and says "Twenty-five."_

_But Andy snorts with laughter. "Yeah right!"_

"_I am. I just look young, don't I?!" _

"_What year was you born?"_

_That catches Ste out, though it shouldn't do. He used to lie about his age all the time when he was sixteen and trying to get into bars. But his mind is slow today, and he can't quite figure it out, and Andy bursts out laughing as Ste hesitates._

_Ste finds himself scowling. It's probably not wise to do so to a man with a gun, but he's reckless these days and couldn't really give a shit. Plus there's something about Andy… an attentiveness that he gives Ste that Ste's sure he doesn't give to anyone. He feels like he can push his luck a bit._

"_Look, I've given you the money – what's with all the questions?!" He demands irritably. _

"_Yeah, alright alright. I just worry about you, is all." Andy reasons, "Look like you couldn't even lift the damn thing. Here – try it."_

_It's not even that heavy, and Ste's offended. But he's so preoccupied with being overwhelmed that he doesn't retort. He's never held a gun with his bare hands before. It's strange. Everything is suddenly becoming all too real. _

_He's really going to do this. He's going to end it once and for all. Simon Walker will be dead. Ste will be free of him, Brendan will be free of him… and Ste will be free of Brendan._

"_Fuckin' hell." He mutters._

"_Feels good, dunnit?" Andy smirks. _

"_Yeah."_

_Then, to his surprise, Andy ruffles his hair. "Well you have yourself some fun with that, kid, and if you ever want a hand, you've got me number." _

"…_Yeah…" Ste mutters again. _

"_Here," Andy snatches a baggie off one of his mates and thrusts it into Ste's lap, "You 'ave some of that to calm your nerves a bit. Nerve-wrackin' innit?" _

_Ste supposes he can admit that it is. After all, Andy's entrusted him with a gun… so Ste's hardly in any danger here. So he nods, and just because Andy's watching him expectantly, he finds himself dipping into the powder in the bag. He doesn't know what it is, but doesn't really care either. He presses it around his gums and feels his lips go numb, and he likes it. _

"_He's a good lad, this one, ain't he?" Andy muses. _

_Some of the other men grunt in agreement. _

_Ste feels comfortable enough to melt back into the sofa… let the sensations do their work on him. He feels better here than he does with Cheryl or Doug. He's not judged here, by these guys. Feels more natural to be with them._

_When he leaves, he takes Andy's mobile number, and Andy makes him promise to call. _

XOXOXOXOX

_31 DAYS AFTER._

'_Brendan,' he writes._

'_So this is what it cums to? After EVREYFING we have dun. After evreyfing I gave up for you. You are spineles. I wish I never met you. I wish I dident kid myself that you cared. But evreyone is rite about you._

_You make me hurt and hurt and hurt but im not gona let you anymore. Wen you get out, I wont be yours. Im taking controle of my own life now. You dont get to deside things for me. I wont try and visit you agen. ROT FOR ALL I CARE._

_STEVEN.'_

_XOXOXOX_

He sits outside the rehabilitation centre, knees up on the steps and chain-smoking cigarettes as he watches the cars pull into the car-park. Wives step out of them, mothers step out of them, children step out of them. Some look cautious and worried, others look ready for confrontation, and some look impossibly happy to greet their drugged-up waste-of-space loved-ones.

And then, impossibly, there's Brendan.

It's like all the wind is knocked out of Ste's chest… so surprised and overwhelmed he is to see him. He was convinced, utterly full-heartedly convinced, that he wouldn't be here. That perhaps Brendan was just a figure of his imagination the whole time.

But there he is, and he's wearing jeans and a tight-fitting black jumper with a V-neck that accentuates his chest hair. And he's wearing sun-glasses that he lifts the moment he sees Ste on the steps, and reveals his blue eyes. Eyes that are swimming with nervousness and cautiousness and also that all-familiar shine that Brendan only ever reserves for Ste.

Ste can't even move from his step – is rigid and still as Brendan strides over to him.

"Where've you been all my life?" Brendan breathes, and then Ste feels himself pulled into the firmest, strongest, most secure hug he's ever experienced in his entire life. And his own arms fold around Brendan's back, and hold him close… and Ste realises that he can't ever let go now.

He's broken. He just cries. And Brendan holds him and rocks him through it, never reducing his hold on him, until Brendan's shoulder and neck are damp with Ste's tears. Brendan's hand is firm and unfeasibly comforting in Ste's hair, and his lips pressing against the top of Ste's head in a way that can _only _be loving… even if that doesn't make sense.

Ste's whole body feels weak and shaky, but he never lessens his grip on Brendan. Couldn't even if he wanted to. He's not letting him go again. Not ever again.

"I love you." He croaks. It's high-pitched and almost inaudible, but Brendan hears it. Of course he hears it.

"I love you too." He sighs, and he sounds just as wretched but it doesn't matter.

They don't go inside like everybody else does. They just sit here, entangled, for the full three hours. Hopelessly, damagingly, obsessively and absurdly in love. And never in the entire world could they be happier to have each other.

**XOXOXOXOX**

**Baaaahhhh, this took it out of me! Reviews very much appreciated. **


	11. Chapter 11

Seeing Steven again is a relief he could have never anticipated. These past 10 days of Steven being locked away unnaturally have been torturously painful. Brendan's run it all over in his head day in day out… what's Steven doing? Who's he talking to? Is he happy? Is he struggling? Has he found peace? Is he working hard? Does he miss Brendan? Does he miss Andy? Will he ever want to see Brendan, after this?

Brendan had called the rehab on several occasions, only to receive some of the vaguest of breakdowns: "Ste's on a maintenance dose today, he will be attending a group therapy session in the afternoon and an outdoor work-out in the evening. His eating has improved, and he seems to be calm enough. Couple of relapses, but nothing drastic of yet."

All this is very well and good, but not the information Brendan is after. He wants to hear Steven's _voice. _He wants to look into Steven's eyes and see that there's some kind of sparkle there, not the blank routinely compliance he witnessed when leaving Steven there seven days ago.

When he finally sets eyes on him, on the tenth day, it's like his muscles melt to rubber. He had planned to give Steven his space, respect that he's having 'thinking time' and behave with the nonchalance Steven might require of him. Instead, he can't help himself. He throws his arms around Steven, because it looks so much like he needs to be held. And no, there's no happy sparkle in Steven's eye. Instead there are tears – and a lot of them – and it feels like Steven completely deflates in his embrace; finally letting out all the torture and turmoil of the past three years.

Brendan just holds him and rocks him. It doesn't feel like enough, but Steven's grip is tight on him and he knows he mustn't stop. A pitiful meek rain starts, and Steven barely even registers it. By the end of the three hours they're soaked through to the skin and Steven must be freezing. But he's taken inside before Brendan can even tell him to have a bath, or say a decent goodbye for that matter.

After all the holding and crying, they'd exchanged just a few coherent sentences.

"Will you come back next time?"

"Course I will, Steven. I'm not going anywhere. Are you… D'you _want_ me to come back?"

"Yeah." Steven nodded. No pretence, façade or pride.

"I'll be here. Eight more days, that's all it is."

"Yeah." Steven's voice shakes, like that daunts him. Brendan hasn't even _asked _him what it's like in here, and how he's holding up. He never gets the chance to ask whether Steven can take another eight days of isolation, or whether he wants to come home immediately.

So when Cheryl asks him through reluctant pursed lips, "How is he then?", Brendan doesn't really have an answer.

He shrugs his shoulders and mutters half-heartedly, "Steven's tough. He's okay."

"And I take it he's back in your life for good now, then?"

"Yes."

He doesn't miss the roll of Cheryl's eyes.

"He needs me, Chez."

"He needs your wallet."

"No, shut up with that; you know that's not true! C'mon what's wrong with ye?" Brendan tuts irritably.

"Ste is a _different person _now, Brendan! And I'm sorry, but I don't get why he hated you one minute and now… what… he's in love with you again?!"

"It's complicated."

"Yeah, it always is." She sighs.

"Yeah it is, so back off, yeah?"

"I just…" Cheryl stutters, trails off, shrugs… as if deciding it's useless.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No c'mon," Brendan says, "Say it."

"Are you two gonna be going round in these circles for the rest of your lives?! It's… it's _exhausting! _It's exhausting for _me_ and I'm not even involved!" Cheryl cries, "This is what _happens _with you two. It's all just… anger and torment and you both end up going crazy with it and I just…"

"What?"

"I just wonder when you're finally gonna call it a day." She sighs.

"You know that's not gonna happen."

"I know," Cheryl relents, worn out. "And I know you're probably just as bad as each other but… you're my brother, and I want you to be _happy._"

"I will be."

"When he is?"

Brendan nods. That's exactly right. The very idea that he could even make Steven smile again it… it's more than he can bring himself to imagine right now, but it's what he'll strive for.

The very idea of himself being happy… well that's hard to imagine as well right now. He was at the lowest pit of self-hate and despair those three years he was left inside… labelled a sex-abuser. Hardly spoke to anyone; couldn't even summon the energy to move his lips. Imagining every night that Steven was happy in the arms of another man, and absurd phrases coming from his hypothetical lips; _"I 'ad a lucky escape from Brendan, eh?!_". He tortured himself with it.

Every time he was told that 'Steven Hay' had requested visiting rights, it became harder and harder and harder to deny him. But he knew he had to. Knew he was doing the right thing… setting him free. Tossing away lousy one-night-stands and coming to the realisation that his life was doomed from here-on-out because he'd let Steven go. But knowing that he was doing what was best for Steven… releasing him from the day-by-day contamination that Brendan was selfish enough to enforce on him.

But he can't think about that now.

Eight more days… just eight more days and then Brendan can visit him again. The doctors said that if Steven's on schedule then he should be off the maintenance dose by then, and they want to increase his weight by five pounds. They talk about him as if he's a machine in need of fixing. A project… a play-toy to scrub up and tidy until he's deemed a 'normal' human again.

They talk about him like he's damaged goods. Like he's _Brendan. _

XOXOXOXOXOX

The second time the window smashes, Brendan is ready for it because he hardly sleeps at all at the moment. Good fucking thing as well, because this time it's a firework. Steven was right about the brick being just a 'warning'. This shit will surely get worse.

Brendan lobs the thing as far as he can away from the flat, hoping it might catch Andy and his coward cronies as they speed away. Instead it fires and explodes in the middle of the empty street, rocketing into the sky with a bang that's sure to awake the rich sleepers in their fancy flats.

Brendan exhales a breath, feeling his heart hammer with the adrenaline.

"Cunts." He mutters.

Cunts, because as far as Andy knows, Steven is sleeping here. Isn't he supposed to care about him? As in… not want him to explode or burn to death?

"Someone's not a fan of you!" The glass-repairer remarks cheerily when he arrives. He'd been like this last time as well – nattering on with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face, before his words had faded out feebly, drowned in the tension of Ste and Brendan's silence.

"Hm." Brendan grunts unhelpfully. He stands with his arms folded, watching the man work and enjoying how he cripples slightly under the pressure of being so closely scrutinised.

"You called the police?"

"Not a fan of 'em."

"It's a proper criminal offence this!" The repairman points out, ever the shrewd observer. "Probably just kids messin' about though, was it?"

"Somethin' like that."

"They're gettin' worse – kids. Little scallies with nowt better to do."

"Uh-huh." Brendan drones, bored. "Don't worry, mate. They'll learn."

XOXOXOXOXOX

"Amy. Hi. Long time no speak."

Brendan pauses… listens to the silence of the answering machine… finds himself unable to word exactly what he needs to say. Doesn't even know why he called – stupid idea – this probably isn't even her number anymore.

"Urm, yeah so… quick catch-up… just bringing you up to date, you know how I like to do that."

He laughs shortly to ease the tension of the silence over the phone. Amy may as well be there, cos he's pretty sure this is the exact same reception he'd get if she was.

"So, Steven's in rehab." He says, with forced lightness. "Got more needle pricks on his arms than freckles at the moment. Just errr…. thought you should know. Don't know where ye are. Maybe, I don't know, he might wanna see his kids? Just a thought."

The lingering silence on the other end of the line continues.

It stirs something in him.

Because this is fucking typical. This is exactly it, isn't it? This is what Steven's been receiving from his so-called friends over the last three years. Silence, rejection, abandonment.

"Maybe you can take one day off swannin' around on a beach to cut the lad a break?! The guy that raised yer daughter like his own – you remember him?!"

The line cuts dead. He's run out of time.

Probably just as well.

He slams the phone heavily against the countertop and takes a deep breath. This is useless. What was the point in calling Amy anyway, when he doesn't even know what happened between her and Steven? He's just trying to do something, _anything _that might be in any way useful, whilst Steven's trapped behind the doors of rehabilitation. He just wants to help. To repair his own damage.

It's ridiculous, but he turns up at the rehabilitation on the eighteenth day, arms filled with presents. THAT is his final desperate method of helping.

He knows as he approaches the steps how this is going to go down. Steven won't accept the gifts. He'll think this is Brendan trying to _buy _his forgiveness. That's not the case though – truth is he was just going crazy all alone at home… had to do _something._

He gets strange looks off the other visitors when he sits at the reception, arms filled with gift-wrapped shopping bags. He's bought clothes, CD's, a nice watch, some action-packed X-Box games, cookery books and a bunch of novelty kitchen-wear like a stupid comedic apron and funny-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers. All utter shit. All stuff that'll mean nothing to Steven anymore.

The patients start to come into the reception area and greet their loved ones with hugs or awkward hand-shakes.

Brendan becomes twitchy and nervous the longer time drags on. His foot taps insistently fast against the ground. Last time Steven had been sat on the steps outside, already waiting for him. Where is he now?!

The reception clears. Patients and their families wonder off to enjoy their heart-to-hearts and updates. And Brendan's left alone. Alone with his bags of crap.

And time drags on and on, and he knows Steven's not coming. Not now or ever.

He kicks a gift-bag, hard. The guitar-shaped frying pan falls from the bag and crashes against the wall.

Steven's given up on him. Come to his senses. Cried himself dry last time, and that's all he needed – it's out of his system and he's moving on, and worst thing is Brendan knows he's every bloody right to.

He shoves the presents on top of the reception desk – leaves them there in case Steven wants them, and walks back to his car.

His chest physically hurts, it's that painful.

And he wonders if this is only an ounce of what Steven felt… when Brendan rejected him in the exact same way time and time again when he was in prison.

"Fuck!" He hisses to himself, teeth grit, eyes stinging with the urge not to cry. Brendan fucking Brady, crying like a discarded love-struck fool at the wheel of his car. Given a taste of his own medicine, and can't fucking take it. Fucking pathetic. Fucking waste of fucking space. And he's fucked it – for good. Ruined everything that was ever good in his life.

It takes him some time to acknowledge the small tapping at the car window.

A woman looks timidly in at him, her ginger hair pulled back in a tight, professional-looking bun. She's one of the staff here. Her name-badge reads 'FIONA'.

"What?" Brendan grunts through the half wound-down window.

"Are you Brendan Brady?"

"Yeah."

"You're here to see Ste, aren't you?"

There's that pain in his chest again.

"Yeah."

Fiona bites her lip, "I'm sorry – someone should have told you."

"Told me what?"

"There was an incident last night, and Ste had to be put on a mild sedation drug. He's resting today."

Brendan swallows, his head adjusting to this news. "What? What sort of incident?"

"Nothing you need to worry too much about right now, but you should have been called. He's got a meeting arranged with an external therapist today. There's been some concern about his-"

"What do ye mean, external therapist?!" Brendan demands, "No! He's seein' me today!"

"Well, his supervisor wasn't sure that's a good idea."

"Hey," Brendan seethes, and climbs from the car, forcing Fiona to backtrack nervously, "This ain't a fuckin' jail. Today's visiting day – so I'm _visiting _him."

"He might not even be awake…"

"I don't care."

Fiona blinks, hesitating. She seems not to know what to do. Just what the fuck is happening here? Brendan feels like he's centre of some conspiracy… like all the Gods in the world are ensuring he and Steven can't coincide in the same universe. Well fuck that. Fuck them all. They can poke and prod Steven like he's some freak, but he's not, and Brendan will remind him, because God knows it's easy to become a freak when you're treated as one. Brendan knows that better than anyone.

In the end they let him in because they can't stop him.

Steven's not in the same bedroom as he was put in on induction day. This bedroom is smaller, and more basic with just a single bed. The views are still as beautiful, but Brendan can't help but feel this is some form of punishment for him. And God knows he didn't pay for him to come here so he could be treated like this.

He's fast asleep and for a few moments Brendan's content to just watch him… to see that he's breathing, at rest, at peace.

But as the minutes stretch on, he can't help himself. He traces his fingers along the line of Steven's hair where it hangs overgrown upon his forehead. He sketches through his hairline to the shaven sides, also mostly grown out from lack of care. He looks good like this. Unkempt, yes… but the look works on him.

Brendan takes in every bit of him. His plump cracked lips open slightly in his sleep. His fists curled around the bedcovers, bringing them right up to his chin. His long eyelashes… now flickering open.

"Brendan," He whispers sleepily.

"Yer late for visiting day." Brendan says plainly.

Steven blinks slowly, adjusts to the light.

"You okay?" Brendan asks.

"Yeah." Steven breaks into the smallest of smiles. "I forgot you were comin'."

"Yeah, it almost slipped my mind too." Brendan retorts, with a smirk to let Steven know he's lying. He wouldn't forget for a second. "You gotten in some kinda trouble?"

"You know me." A mirrored smirk.

"Showin' 'em who's boss, I hope."

"I've got you to do that for me now, haven't I?"

Brendan smiles, but Steven's comment strikes a nerve in him. He doesn't like this setup. Doesn't like the concern that was on Fiona's face when she'd suggested Steven needed a 'therapist'. Doesn't like him being pushed around.

"Ye need me to do somethin'?" Brendan asks, "You want me to talk to someone? Are… are you happy here?"

Steven frowns at Brendan's concern. States obviously, "Well I didn't come 'ere to be happy."

"No, you came here to get better." Brendan says, "And they're tellin' me there's been an _incident _– what does that mean?"

"Just them mouthin' off."

"Did something happen?"

Steven shrugs, his shoulders slumping tiredly.

"I don't remember." He mumbles, "I just saw red."

Brendan can relate to that sensation better than anyone. He knows what it's like for that cloud to fade and to discover you've done something terrible… irreversible… something you couldn't control in those moments of grief and hurt and anger.

"They kept pushin' me." Steven continues, "To talk. And I didn't want to."

"Uh-huh."

"I can't. I can't tell 'em what I did."

"What do you mean, what you did?"

"To Walker. I can't tell 'em. So they shouldn't ask."

Brendan swallows, hard. The subject of Walker's murder lingers heavily in the air; overpowering. Brendan knows what it's like to kill. He knows that the ghost will follow Steven wherever he goes. He won't sleep right, maybe ever again. He'll always remember the ringing of the gunshot… the steel under his fingers… feel the impact of death in the pit of his stomach.

Brendan never wanted that for Steven. Never.

"I see him every day." Steven whispers shakily, and Brendan knows he means Walker.

"I know." Brendan breathes.

Steven inhales a shaky breath, but says no more, perhaps momentarily convinced that he's not rotten and alone. Neither of their toxic secrets are secrets between them. No more needs to be said about it.

But Steven's not finished. He seems delicate – even more so perhaps in his sedated silence than when he cried the last time. But at the same time he seems to have come to a sort of resolve, and speaks with the firmness of a man who wants to get something off his chest. _Needs _to.

"D'you know what it felt like?" He breathes, "When I lost ya?"

Brendan shifts from his crouched position on the floor – senses he may need some more support for this – and sits at the end of Steven's bed. Steven sits up too to face him – man to man.

"It was just like everything was gone." Steven says croakily, "Like I wasn't even in the proper world anymore, you know? Cos… even back when we weren't together… even when I didn't even _like _ya… you were still there. You know, I'd see ya walkin' past the deli, and I knew you were _there_. And then… you were just _nowhere. _It was like you didn't exist, except I knew you did, and it were like _I _was the one that was trapped. Like it was just a bad dream and I couldn't get out of it."

Brendan wants to put a hand over his mouth – tell him to stop, because he can't bear to hear that he was the root of such turmoil. He can't bear to face his own betrayal and treachery, knowing he ignored Steven's desperate pleas all that time… blindly believing it to be for the best.

"And nobody got it." Steven continues. And his words are so uncharacteristically clear and well-formulated that it's clear he's been thinking this over for months… years… "They just kept tellin' me it was for the best. They didn't even wanna know how… how…"

He's breaking. Brendan wants to hold him again, but he feels that any movement might startle him to stop… and that he needs to do this. To say these things.

So when the tears start rolling down Steven's cheeks again, Brendan has to sit back – useless as always – and watch.

"…how you're the only one who I ever thought was the same as me." Steven chokes, "An' the longer you were gone… the longer everyone else kept acting the same, like nothin' was different… I just felt like a freak, and then I wanted you more than ever. And it just got worse and worse."

He wipes one of his tears away stubbornly with the back of his hand, dismissing it. He's not destroyed by the tears like he was last time – instead his voice remains strong, and the teardrops just a silent pollution. It's like he doesn't even realise or acknowledge that he's crying.

"You know like when you're thinking, and then you lose your trail of thought?" He says, staring Brendan adamantly, _willing _him to see, "An' you try and get it back, but it's just fuzzy, but it's still _there _always in the back of your mind. It were like that all the time. And I wanted to stop… stop bein' in the fuzzy bit. I just wanted to get numb and stop worryin' and stop carin'. So that's why. That's why I'm here, innit?"

"That's why you got into drugs." Brendan reinstates, more to himself than anything, and finds his voice is hardly there.

"Yeah." Steven finishes, resolute. He sniffs, uses his sleeve to wipe it. And then laughs weakly and rolls his eyes as if to retort _'what am I like, eh?!'._

It's feels typically self-deprecating of him. Self-conscious of his own downfall… even around Brendan.

And Brendan finds his voice again.

"I felt that too." He mumbles breathlessly. "The… the fuzz thing."

Steven smiles in appreciation, "Yeah, right."

He doesn't believe him.

"I felt it every day, Steven." Brendan insists, firmer this time. "Every day, I didn't…"

He sighs, grits his teeth together. He's always been fucking useless at this – this… telling Steven what he feels.

"… I never stopped thinkin' about ye." He concludes feebly.

"Amy said I was obsessed." Steven says.

It sounds like he's accusing Brendan of the same thing. With the same connotation of how Amy used it… the suggestion that obsession doesn't mean love.

Brendan opens his mouth to object, but Steven interrupts.

"I couldn't… I couldn't even _breathe _without ya, for a while." He says, exasperated with himself. "Like, that's not normal is it?"

"I don't know." Brendan says numbly.

"And that's why I agreed to come here. Cos you wanted me to. And cos I actually thought that… that if I came here, you might love me again."

It knocks Brendan for six.

Like his whole heart has fallen to the bottom of his gut and out of his body – rendering him speechless.

Fucking speechless – again.

WHY is he acting like such a braindead arsehole, when Steven needs him to speak up now more than _ever_?! Like Steven's whole life and wellbeing _depends _on it.

Because he's looking at Brendan now with watery eyes, filled with hate for himself and love for Brendan… love he has genuinely _convinced _himself to be unrequited… love he's resigned to feeling all over again, despite the destruction it did last time.

And why can't Brendan fucking SAY ANYTHING?!

Steven sniffs again, and continues on the topic of rehab, muttering; "It's not goin' very well though. I don't think they like me very mu-"

"-I do love you Steven." Brendan interrupts. Late. Too late now to find his voice… sounds like a fucking afterthought.

But he can't stop now.

"I never stopped loving you. Never. How can you even thi…?! I thought I was giving you up for _your _sake. I thought I was doing the right thing. Fucking _Christ _if I'd know anythin' about…"

He stutters – words struggling to get out of him. _Fucking pull yourself together man. _

"I only ever wanted you to be happy, Steven." He finishes. "That's all I ever wanted for you."

His words hang limply in the silence. Too little, too late. Fucking typical of him.

It's no wonder tears are coming from Steven's eyes again.

Brendan's let him down. Again. Will never ever be good enough for someone who needs so much more from him. These useless words and sentiments fall flat and dead when his actions only serve to rip Steven to shreds.

"I wanted to marry you, once." Steven says. For the first time, his voice is quiet and unsure. This is unrehearsed… not like his other spiels which he'd run over in his head day in day out. "I wanted to spend me whole life with you."

"Me too." Brendan says, equally quiet and vulnerable. "Really, I did."

But then he checks himself, and adds even more quietly, "….do."

Steven blinks, surprised. Tearfully startled. He looks so beautiful in his fragility that it hurts to look at him.

"What – even now?" Steven says, "When I'm like this?"

"S'gonna take a lot more than this to put me off, Steven."

Steven reviews this for a moment or two in his head. He's probably slowed down by sedation… and from warring with his heart and his head, just as Brendan always forces him to do.

He feels bad that he's forcing all this on him all over again.

Being with Steven - doing this to him - _always_ was the most selfish option.

But then Steven's arms are around him. And suddenly Brendan has his full weight. Steven's supported in Brendan's arms – his to break or care for.

He's not sure which of those he's doing when he lifts Steven's face and kisses him – deep, passionate, penetrating. He says with his lips and tongue what he struggled so fucking much to say with his words. _I love you, I always have, I always will. I will die for you. I will kill for you. I will suffer a lifetime for you. I will walk to all ends of the earth to see you smile. And for every time you can't breathe without me, I'm suffocating dead without you. And for every tear you shed over me, my insides are ripping for you. And I was a machine before I met you – was when I was without you – but you make me human. And I would give you the whole fucking world, Steven Hay._

There's no sense or logic at play when he lays Steven against the bed, and their clothes are being pulled of with the frantic need of two robots whose blood finally runs warm again. Their lips only ever part to lift shirts over heads, and there's no time to even prepare before Brendan is inside of him, and Steven is crying out with animalistic-sounding pleasure – heated, desperate, wanting gasps and moans.

Steven's legs wrap tightly around Brendan's neck, their bodies melting and syncing together as though they've never been apart. There's little notice taken to their surroundings – the unlocked door with the staff roaming outside. None of it matters when they're absorbed in each other like this.

After a while there's nothing. There's no way of knowing where Steven's body ends and Brendan's begins. It's just blurred vision and rough panting, and teeth and nails and whispered _'yes!' _and _'fuck' _and _'don't stop!'._

It's like they could be back in time. In the office of the now-renovated Chez Chez. On the floor of the now-sold living room in Brendan's flat. In the bedroom of Steven's council flat… now burnt to a crisp.

It's like they both unravel and come alive. Both stop being freaks when they're together like this. When they climax together, fall against each other. And Steven's arms wrap with ferocity around Brendan's neck like he daren't ever let go again. And Brendan presses firm possessive kisses to the lads neck, face, collarbone – anywhere he can touch. They're sweaty and a mess and a tangle of broken bruised limbs, but they're undoubtedly one.

And Brendan knows in this moment that he's not leaving Steven here – can't leave him alone again for another single day. He can take Steven with strops and baggage and now needles if he has to, but he can't be without him for another god damn second.


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm sorry if you feel there's no relief in this fic, and I'm afraid there's more angst in this chapter. I know they need a break – and probably so do you – but they have each other now, and slowly but surely their salvation is coming! But with the content of this fic, it's very hard to have a relieving chapter when there's still so many issues floating around! But bear with it, please!**

**XOXOXOX**

His whole body is trembling with the palpitations of what Brendan's doing to him. He's on his back on Brendan's bed, his knees hoisted up over the top of Brendan's shoulders, his chest rising and falling with the efforts to keep his breathing steady. And Brendan's making a meal out of him. His tongue darts in and out of Ste's hole in the way that only Brendan knows how – slow sensual swipes and then fast and incessant until Ste's lost all control of his own voicebox and he's moaning, arching off the bed, his ankles hooked around the back of Brendan's neck and trying to pull him closer.

Brendan's hands run smoothly down from Ste's ankles to his thighs, stroking. The movement seems caring… intimate. Contrasted with the downright crudeness of his actions further up, it has Ste's toes curling, his hands searching around blindly to find Brendan's own.

When Brendan removes his tongue, the coldness leaves Ste startled, his eyes flying open. Brendan's looking him over… his eyes trailing from the obscene slobbery mess of Ste's buttocks, to his dick pressed hard and proud against his stomach… then up to Ste's eyes, reviewing Brendan watchfully – trying to work out what he's going to do next.

"Fuck, I missed you." Brendan breathes. He lowers himself down over him, bites Ste's earlobe – hard.

Ste just responds with half-whimper half-moan, folds his arms around Brendan's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. He can't get enough of the Irishman. Can't get enough of how Brendan _devours _him… how Brendan looks at him like he's the only man in his entire universe. He'd told himself that love was a myth – that it was dangerous, destructive, damaging. It's still all those things, but then so is he… and he wants more of it. More of Brendan. More of Brendan's devotion. He always will.

He even allows himself to fill with a sense of happiness and completion as he slides his tongue against Brendan's. The moustache against the top of his lip feels safe in its familiarity, sexy in its reminder of old times. He's so hard. Aching for Brendan instinctively. Every part of his body desiring to be closer and closer and closer.

Brendan tries to pull away, about to travel south again, but Ste stops him – hasn't had enough yet. He laps at Brendan's mouth with his own until their kiss becomes animalistic and crude… saliva being lapped obscenely across lips. Brendan pushes his thumb – firm first, then intrusively hard – against Ste's lips and spreads their joint spit around Ste's mouth and chin. He must look a state. Just how Brendan likes him. And Christ, Brendan's eyes are dark and invasive in their review of Ste's mouth. He studies Ste's lips like they're a masterpiece and he's contemplating just where to hang them. For a moment they're both still – reviewing each other – Ste waiting with baited breath for Brendan's instruction.

Brendan pushes Ste downwards. Rough, but not forcefully so… just enough to make Ste's dick twinge with need as his mouth finds Brendan's cock and takes it inside. Low enough for Ste to see Brendan's knees buckle and shudder as he sucks him from base to tip.

"_Fuck…" _He hears Brendan sigh.

Ste doesn't hold back. He knows exactly how to get Brendan like this – he hasn't changed at all. Ste sucks hard, slurps loudly, uses his tongue to tease and taste and test and gratify. He loves the feel of it when Brendan's hands tangle and grip his hair… loves the noises he provokes from his old lover when Brendan loses control and starts to thrust into Ste's mouth and Ste takes all of it.

He ends up on his back, Brendan's hips held loosely between his fingers as Brendan pushes dominatingly between his willing open lips. Brendan's hands move backwards and starts to handle Ste's dick, pumping it with teasing gentleness as he thrusts into his mouth.

Until Ste can handle it no more.

He releases Brendan's cock with a pop, takes it sloppily in his palm and breathes with the last remaining breaths he has, "Fuck me."

It was only yesterday that they'd slept together in the rehab – reconnected their bodies effortlessly – experienced the excruciating pleasure. Even under the sedation, Ste's whole body had been on fire from the connection. He's wanted nothing since other than to do it again – hasn't even considered a fix when _this _is all that's consumed his mind.

He wants it just the same as yesterday. Passionate… intense… rough.

Which is why, when Brendan climbs back onto the bed with the condoms and lube, Ste pushes the lube away.

"No, without it." He croaks.

Brendan's eyes flash seductively, impossibly turned on. "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Ste's impatient. He pushes the lube to the floor, arches onto his back with his arse pushed out for Brendan's dick.

He can see the lust in Brendan's eyes… the way he practically salivates at the mouth with the vivid memories of yesterdays encounter… the rough raw conviction of it. It's what they're both thinking… what they both anticipate recreating.

Ste's breath is hitched, tongue licks his lips eagerly as Brendan begins to push into him…

But then Brendan stops suddenly. Draws back. His expression is different… clouded… a look of realisation about him.

And Ste feels immediate panic.

"What?" He whispers hurriedly.

Brendan looks stricken with something – disturbed by a memory.

"When…" he breathes, "When was the last time you got checked?"

Ste blinks, confused, frustrated. "What?"

"We didn't use a condom." Brendan says plainly. "Yesterday – we didn't…"

Ste feels his heart sinking. The look of dread on Brendan's face explained. Yesterday had been frenzied and impulsive… no other thoughts present other than the need to be close, together. But now Brendan's mind is coming back to him. And he's thinking about needles… and men… and the dirty little whore Ste really is.

Ste feels humiliation pulsate through him. Pulls his knees to his chest to cover himself and _prays _that Brendan just spit it out – get it over and done with. A man who's always made the effort to be clean and safe has just fucked someone unprotected who he _clearly _considers filthy, and quite rightly.

"Fuck." Brendan groans, confirming Ste's fears. "Fuck, fuck… _shit._"

"'m sorry." Ste mumbles, and hates to feel his own face burning red with shame.

"No," Brendan breathes, "You haven't got anythin' to be sorry for."

But he's climbing from the bed, away from Ste, so he clearly doesn't believe that.

"We'll have to get checked." He says, making a grab for his phone. "Tomorrow… after the baptism."

Fuck.

Ste had completely forgotten about the fucking baptism.

Brendan had mentioned it in the car on the way home yesterday, but in his sedated state, Ste had barely registered it. But Brendan expects him to attend the party for Cheryl's child. Expects Ste to go there and face Cheryl again… and all of Cheryl's friends… figures of Ste's past. After everything that happened. After _this. _

Ste climbs from the bed, reaches for his jogging bottoms.

"Hey," Brendan says – softer this time.

He touches Ste's shoulder, but Ste flinches away from it and snaps, "What?!"

Brendan seems surprised by his irritation.

"I'm sorry, Steven." He says. But he doesn't sound like he means it.

He's got nothing to be sorry for and Ste knows it, but the humiliation he feels is still fresh. He feels cheap and disgusting and just wants to get out of this bedroom… away from Brendan and the fears he knows Brendan has about him.

"Steven!" Brendan calls after him as Ste makes his way into the living room.

Ste lights up a cigarette, takes a long heavy drag.

It's not enough. He feels tears sting hotly in his eyes; his body pre-empting what his mind refuses to review… thoughts of Walker and Andy and Gordon and all the other men he's been with. The image of that panic flashing in Brendan's eyes just before he'd pulled away from him, like Ste was hot iron.

"Don't do that!" Brendan's exasperated voice cuts through his trance… and Ste is almost _surprised _to find himself pulling the belt around his own arm.

"Why not?" He says numbly.

"Because ye don't need it, Steven."

He didn't think he did. After his 18 days sober, Ste had really planned to try as hard as he could. But now he does need it – and what's the point in refusing himself when the needles have already corrupted him anyway? He can hardly make himself any _worse… _any _more _dirty, can he? He's come this fucking far – why not keep going?

"So you're gonna go to my nephews baptism off your fuckin' head?!" Brendan demands, growing angry.

"So what?! S'not like he'll care, is it?! It's not till later anyway!"

"I thought you were gonna try and make things up with Cheryl."

"Just leave me alone, Brendan."

Hard to imagine now that only ten minutes ago, Brendan had his tongue in his arse – and they were the most connected and intimate of anyone on the planet.

"Alright, I get it, I've pissed you off." Brendan says. "I didn't mean anythin' by it – I just said we should get checked!"

Ste scrabbles faster for the needle; wanting to block out Brendan's words, wanting to stop his own thoughts, his own tears, before they can rise to the surface.

He plunges it into his arm, and feels Brendan seethe and stiffen beside him. Feels relief and pleasure and numbness overcome him, and is only vaguely aware of Brendan turning on his heel and striding from the room.

Not that he has any right to be angry. He signed Ste out of rehabilitation in the first place. He essentially agreed to take him like this. So _fuck him. _

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Ste hardly has it in him to feel anxious during the car journey to the church. He injected hours ago but still feels the intense relief of it now – can't bring himself to care about Brendan or Cheryl or baby Connor.

He and Brendan barely speak for the duration of the journey, but as Brendan pulls up he mutters, "Jus' stick with me, okay? S'gonna be shit, but we'll leave as soon as possible."

It's only when Ste finds himself walking up to the church entrance that he for the first time regrets taking the drugs. His heart starts hammering and a thin layer of sweat dampens the back of his neck.

There are _so _many people here. They're all dressed in beautiful suits and dresses, chattering amongst themselves, laughing, holding elegant glasses of champagne. Even worse are the faces Ste recognises. The girl who worked in the club with the thick black eyeliner and coloured streaks in her hair. The posh lad with the curls… Barney… with his arm around a girls waist. Nancy… with a toddler on her hip. So many eyes turn to him and Brendan as they make their way towards the crowd. The freaks among the humans.

Ste becomes overtly conscious of how wide his pupils must be… how spaced out he is. He stays positively glued to Brendan's side, accepts the champagne that Brendan offers him gladly and sinks it back whilst Brendan does the same.

"Brendan!" The eyeliner-girl cries.

"Ashley." Brendan addresses flatly.

"I didn't know you'd been released! They let you out early?!"

"I was on my best behaviour."

"So that's why Cheryl waited until today." Ash smiles, "Have you met Connor?"

"He's my nephew, isn't he?!" Brendan bites.

Ash seems unaffected by his brash tone – seems to think she has some kind of friendship with him. She practically glowers around Brendan and ignores Ste completely – which is what he prefers. It's better than the looks of distaste he's receiving off some of the others… his eyes scan over Darren… and Nate… and…

"Shit." He mutters.

Even motherfucking Doug is here. Ste somehow hadn't expected Cheryl to have kept in contact with everybody… although now he feels stupid for assuming so, just because _he _didn't. Doug's got a bloke beside him and it takes Ste a minute to recognise that it's John-Paul. Christ. He never imagined they'd make it this long… not with Doug playing second-best all over again, but clearly John-Paul's got more resolve than he ever had. He's making Doug laugh. Acting like the perfect boyfriend. The one who won't ditch Doug, then ridicule him, then push him away with wild accusations about stalking and hateful 'fuck off's.

Ste knocks back another glass of champagne.

"We won't stay long, will we?" He whispers to Brendan.

Brendan shakes his head, but he's distracted.

Second-last person Ste wants to see. Cheryl is bounding over to them.

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes!" Brendan beams, embracing his sister with the most earnest of tight squeezes.

But over his shoulder Cheryl's eyes glaze and trace with concern over Ste.

"Hiya." He mutters, feeling more self-conscious than he's ever done in his life. Fuck he wishes the drugs would wear off. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I didn't realise you were coming." Cheryl says. "I thought you were in rehab."

"He got signed out." Brendan explains shortly.

"Well you should have told me… I don't know if we have enough seats…"

Cheryl at least has the decency to act awkward and embarrassed about not wanting Ste here. It doesn't stop the second stab of humiliation though.

"It's alright." Ste says, before Brendan can respond. "I'll jus' wait in the car."

"No don't be stupid!" Brendan responds, "Chez, c'mon, we're not here to cause any trouble, okay?"

"Brendan, his pupils are blown wide open – did you really think I would be okay with this?! Today is about _Connor, _okay? About my little boy! I just, I…"

Cheryl glances around, anxious not to cause a scene in front of her guests.

She lowers her tone, "I'm not happy about this, Brendan."

"We'll talk about it later." Brendan says, with an air of finality.

It seems that will have to satisfy her. In that moment Nate and Nancy come over with their respective toddlers and Cheryl is forced to let it lie, proceeding to squeal and coo like an overexcited child with Ste temporarily forgotten.

Brendan downs a glass of champagne, appearing stressed, and passes one to Ste so he can do the same.

"I shouldn't've come." Ste mumbles.

"I invited ye, didn't I? I want ye here."

"My God, everyone here hates me."

"Me too." Brendan says simply, "Fuck 'em."

He puts an arm around Steven's shoulders, casual but supportive, and Ste finds himself feeling safer, securer, under Brendan's guide. They both move into the church and find pews with a fresh fourth glass of champagne each and sit through the entire ceremony without any further trouble. Ste does catch Doug's eye at one point, but the American quickly looks away again… and that's the end of it.

They have to go to some after-party afterwards, in some swanky hotel that only Nate could afford and only Cheryl could make tacky. Because the bouquets of flowers and overbearing huge pictures of Connor _are _tacky. But Brendan beams at the picture of the little lad, his third glass of whisky wrapped in his hand and slightly rocky on his feet as he slurs, "He looks just like his ma'."

"He looks like _you _a bit." Ste observes. "S'got your eyes more than Cheryl's. All blue and shiny."

"Hmm." Brendan sighs thoughtfully, and then smiles. "Ye reckon he's gonna have my swagger n'all?"

"Don't know." Ste responds, and takes another swig of beer. "I feel well out of it, me."

Brendan obviously decides to take advantage of Ste's less functioning state.

"Steven, I'm sorry about earlier."

"Look, I don't want to talk about it, right?"

"Right – but ye know it's nothin' to do with you. I'd have the same thing if it'd been anyone."

"Anyone?!" Ste cries, voice louder and more obnoxious with the intoxication of drink and drugs. "Nah, you wouldn't 'ave even _done _it with anyone!"

"Alrigh', keep your voice down will ye?!"

"You'd only do that with me, but then you make _me _feel like shit cos of somethin' _you _started!"

"Okay!" Brendan hisses, and glances around, wary of his promise to Cheryl.

"You came there, you got all on top of me and decided to not use the condom, alright? _You _need to take the responsibility!"

"_I am!_" Brendan cries, incredulous, face reddening with irritation, "How is this me _not _takin' responsibility?! I don't even get what you're gettin' so fuckin' angry about!"

"YOU!" Ste bites back, "Bein' a dick all the time!"

"Oh, _I'm _being a dick?!"

"You're always a dick!"

"You took crack before my nephew's funeral!"

"Right, exactly!" Ste barks.

Before he knows it he's tossed his beer full at Brendan's front, the substance spilling and splashing down the older mans suit. But Ste's marching away before even waiting for the reaction. And he knows that to Brendan his words and actions don't make sense, but he _hates _that Brendan thinks he's cheap, or a waster, and he _hates _that Brendan _continues _to judge his habit when _he _was the one who signed Ste out of rehab in the first place. When _he _was the one that initiated the sex. When _he _was the one who left Ste in the beginning, commencing the downward spiral that made him end up here – intoxicated, infected, impossible to love.

He's so distracted by his thoughts that he almost misses her.

He would – if she wasn't so impossible to miss.

Not much over four feet high… running and giggling at the end of the hotel corridor… just metres from where Ste stands now. She's around nine-years-old with blonde hair and flowery jeans and a grown-up hand-bag that hangs below her knees.

Leah.

His little girl. His little Leah… the most missed and torturous figment of his past to date.

And he can't even bring himself to approach her. Finds no words… no movement. He's just still… dumbfounded… reeling. What is she doing here?!

"LEAH!" Calls the voice of Amy, "C'mon – we're goin'! Come on!"

"But we only just got here!" Leah cries, anguished, "I want to play with Connor!"

"Not today okay?! We've got to go home!"

Amy sounds stressed… hurried. And then Leah's gone. Slumped her sulky shoulders and followed her mothers orders – run off, out of Ste's sight.

Ste feels he can hardly breathe… leans on the wall for support… the world rocking. He tries to focus on what he's just seen and what he should do about it, but drugs and drink distort his brain, and so does Brendan's voice calling him; "Steven! Steven!" rattling angrily through his head.

And then Brendan's hands on his shoulders… and then his arms grabbing him… supporting him… as Ste rocks heavily.

"Woah, woah – you okay?! Steven, speak to me!"

"I just saw Leah." He says… and is frustrated as his voice slurs and slows… not as urgent as he needs it to sound.

"Leah? What d'ye mean? Where?"

"Cheryl's been in contact with 'em this whole time!" Ste cries… the truth of it hitting him, his brain sluggish to wrap his head around this turn of events.

"Okay, hey, look at me."

Brendan takes Ste's face in his hands – his touch soft but firm, their argument forgotten in the light of more pressing events. Brendan draws Ste's eyes to his own… penetrates him with his resolved gaze, giving Ste a sense of strength and clarity.

"We've gotta find 'em, Brendan!"

"We will, Steven, but ye can't see them in this state, okay? Look at you – it's not a good idea."

"They're leavin' though – we've gotta stop 'em!"

"Listen, Cheryl will know where they live…"

"No." Ste shakes his head frantically. He needs to see them _now_… can't let them walk out of his life again, would rather die. "No – please. _Please _Bren, you've gotta go stop 'em."

"Steven, I don't think Amy will listen to me." Brendan says seriously.

"Please." Ste pulls himself from Brendan's grip, uses the wall to support himself, "I'm gonna go get some water, kay? An'… and you just tell 'em that… that daddy's coming. I jus' need to sober up and then…"

He fumbles his way back down the corridor; needs to trust in this moment that Brendan will do what's best for him and bring back his family. Finds that he _does _trust Brendan to do that; trusts him explicitly.

He somehow finds his way back to the main lobby, through to the ballroom where Cheryl's guests mill about chirpily. He makes it to the bar and asks for a glass of water, _wills _his body to get a grip on itself… _wills _his mind to get back in control of the situation. For Leah and Lucas's sake he needs to get a grip.

"Ste. Long time no see."

The voice to the side of him is just a mild distraction – something he can shut out of his mind as he chugs the water back. He's got one goal, and that's to sober. Nobody is going to get in the way of that, so he ignores the voice completely.

"Charming as ever." John-Paul says, although he sounds more amused than disgruntled.

"Get lost John-Paul." Ste mutters distractedly.

"You're back with Brendan then?"

Fuck. He's not going to fuck off. Ste forgot what a fucking arsehole this guy was.

"Looks like that, dunit?" He pours himself another water, gulps it back.

"Last time I saw you, you were swearing you hated him."

"I don't remember that."

"No, you were pretty off your face _then _as well."

Ste's had enough of this. He turns to John-Paul for the first time and says with as much conviction as his slurred voice will allow, "Look, just fuckin' DO ONE will ya?!"

His voice is loud enough to have alerted Doug to the disturbance, and because Ste's just _that _lucky, Doug starts to make his way over now.

"Is everything okay?!" He says, eyes moving between Ste and John-Paul wearily.

As if he's afraid Ste's going to snap and lash out any moment.

And Ste finds he likes that. Likes the power it makes him feel.

"Everything's fine." John-Paul breezes, "Well, I _say _fine… Ste's turned up to a Christening _wasted_ but…"

"It's a baptism." Ste corrects irritably.

"Wait… are you high?!" Doug cries, incredulous, "Amy told me you were in rehab! I thought you were getting yourself sor…"

Everything Doug says after that seems to blur into a distortion of shock and horror and betrayal.

_Amy told me you were in rehab._

_AMY TOLD ME YOU WERE IN REHAB._

But… why would Amy be talking to _Doug _about him? When Ste hasn't seen _either_ of them in three years?! How would she _know _that? How would _he _know that? Why is Amy here… with his children… with his friends… continuing a life that Ste's not a part of anymore…

"Wait, wait…" Ste says – and there's an edge in his voice that takes away the slur. An anger that masks even the drug intake. "You've been talkin' to Amy?"

Doug stops talking.

Tenses… like he's realised his mistake.

He says nothing. But Ste already knows the answer.

"You been seein' my kids as well?" He asks.

"Look," John-Paul tries to interject, "I think you need to sober up, mate…"

His hands are on Ste's chest, nudging him away from Doug. But Ste shoves him… needs to get his _fucking _hands off him _right now. _

John-Paul stumbles slightly… just enough to knock some glasses off the bar, for them to SMASH across the floor, for the guests' voices to quieten and eyes to travel to their confrontation.

But Ste's only looking at Doug.

"Answer me!" He demands. "You've been seein' me kids?!"

Doug looks red and uncomfortable and mutters, "I mean… not all the time. On _occasion, _yeah."

And the confirmation is almost too much to take. That Amy wouldn't trust Ste with them, would reject his birthday and Christmas presents, but she would take them to visit _Doug… _fucking St fucking perfect Doug who's not so fucking perfect as he thinks he is.

"Look, Ste, it's not a big deal!" Doug reasons, "Me and Amy are _friends, _we just…"

"Since when?! She's NOT your friend, she's MY friend!"

"Right, Ste, I think it's time to go." That's Cheryl now. And she's touching him too – why is everybody TOUCHING him?! Why is everybody PUSHING him? Why is everybody telling him what to do?! Living his life?!

"_Get off me!" _He spits at her. She takes her hands off him like he's given her an electric shock – _fear_ in her eyes as she addresses the anger in his.

There it is again. That sense of power.

"Who gave you the right to go near my kids?!" Ste confronts Doug furiously.

"Well they needed SOMEONE, Ste! While you were off getting high and fucking Walker!"

There's a scream.

Amongst the red haze Ste feels flesh under his fist. Hears glasses smashing, people shouting, hands grabbing him from behind and hoisting him away from the destruction he's just created.

Amongst the babble of shocked and furious voices ("Get him out of here!" "Who the hell do you think you are?!" "That's just _typical_!" "Nasty little brute!") he is pushed into a firm chest… feels Brendan's hands taking hold of him with their firmness and concern.

Loyal, strong, trustworthy Brendan.

So trustworthy that he delivered on the impossible task Ste gave him.

And now Ste looks into the shocked and terrified faces of his own children, who turn from Doug's bleeding face to their daddy's blown-out pupils.

**XOXOXOX**

**I really hope Ste's not become unlikeable. He just needs love! **


	13. Chapter 13

"See, this is _exactly _why I wanted to leave! I should have _never _have let you talk me into staying!"

"Ye can't stop him seein' his kids, Amy. They mean the world to him, you know that!"

"Brendan, he scared them half to death! They should _never _have to see him like that! _Never!_"

"He didn't know you would be here, okay, that's not fair!" Brendan cries.

Amy bundles Lucas into the back of the car. The boy is docile and cooperative… the events of the day stirring obedience in him. He and Leah are both quiet, looking at Brendan with worry in their eyes as their mother rants and rages.

"No, you _told _me that he was better!" Amy accuses, "You lied to me! And that answer-phone message – you said he was in rehab!"

"He was. He's not anymore."

"_Clearly._"

"Look, just stay until the mornin', he'll be sober then; he can see them."

"Brendan, I have to put my children first." Amy says, exasperated. "Okay, I _care _about Ste, I _want _him to see them but they _can't _be subjected to… to drink and drugs. And if he was in his right mind, he wouldn't want that for them either."

"He loves those kids, Amy."

"That's not enough." Amy pushes past Brendan, tries to get into the drivers seat.

But he's NOT going to let her go. He talked her round half an hour ago; he can do it again. Whether she's right or not, he doesn't want to have to tell Steven his kids are gone again. Steven's face in the ballroom… right after he punched Douglas and the kids saw… he'd been crushed. Mortified. All he'd said was a desperate choked-up, "Sorry!" to his children before legging it out of there as quick as he could.

Brendan _needs _to make this better.

"There must be somethin' we can sort out, Amy, _please._"

"What?! You have them stay the weekend? So I bundle my kids off with an _ex-convict_ and a _drug-abuser_?! I know; maybe you can tell Leah stories about prison, and Ste can show Lucas his needle!"

"Don't do that."

"What?! That's the fact of the matter, Brendan. I am _not _putting _my _children in _that _environment."

"I'll PAY for you to stay here tonight, and then we can discuss this like fuckin' adults in the mornin'. You and Steven can talk about it – not me."

For the first time, Amy's anger wanes.

She looks genuinely upset… desperately sad as she croaks, "I can't. I can't, Brendan – I can't talk to him like this."

She climbs into the drivers seat.

"Amy, we've gotta help him – me and you, we're all he's got."

"I have to put the children first." She repeats, like it's her mantra.

She starts the engine. He's losing her.

He jumps in front of the car, hands on the bonnet, shouts through the window to her, "What, and the best thing is to keep them from seein' their Da'?!"

"Brendan, move out the way!"

"He's gonna get better Amy. I _swear _to you."

He means it. Fuck sake, he means it. Now more than ever he _needs _to get Steven back to good health – can't have Steven's kids look at him in disgust like Brendan's do him. Steven doesn't deserve that. And Brendan was selfish and weak and irresponsible and pathetic to sign him out of rehab, but it's done now and now it's down to _him alone _to make this right again. Like he alone destroyed it all.

"You're gonna be proud of him." He says firmly, "You and them – you are."

Amy starts the engine. She gives Brendan one last look before he moves aside which is sad… _desperately_ so. Brendan knows she loves Steven. He also knows that she thinks Steven's a lost cause. She thinks all this is the tail-end of Brendan's destruction… the thing she warned Steven about from the start. She thinks she's lost him to the sorrow and self-destruction that's lingered in his blood from the very beginning.

Brendan's going to prove her wrong.

"Steven?!" He calls, striding through the corridors of the hotel.

He can't think where Steven would have gone. He's booked them a bedroom here under the name 'Brady', but would Steven have thought to check at reception? Probably not, in his state.

"Steven?!" He calls into the mens bathroom.

"Nope. Just me."

Not Steven then.

Douglas.

He's lent over the sink, letting the blood run from his nose into the running water.

Even after all this time, Brendan feels a sense of satisfaction at the sight.

"Don't mess up that sink." He says shortly, and makes to leave before -

"You need to get him outta here." Doug says groggily – voice nasal from the blood.

Brendan would like to add a black eye to that portrait.

"He shouldn't have let them see him like that."

Brendan turns. He reviews the sorry sight of a hypocrite before him. He moves towards Douglas with slow calculated steps, eyes fierce, feeding off the way Douglas flinches ever so slightly despite his better judgement.

"Like what, Douglas?" Brendan breathes, "Like all them kids you pushed drugs to all those many many years ago?"

"Yeah, that _was _years ago." Doug says – acting like he's brave even though Brendan could _crush _him. "I was a kid – what's your excuse?"

"I like it." Brendan says lightly; baiting him. "Yeah. I bought him crack cos I like the way he gets all _feisty, _y'know, like he could do fuckin' _anything._"

Douglas's eyes widen in shock… believing him. So quick, like everybody else, to believe the worst in Brendan. Even _this._

So Brendan continues, voice silky and menacing as he whispers, "Yeah. I like the way when he looks at me, it's like he can't really _see _me. And I like the way I could _snap _him in half cos he hardly eats a fuckin' thing and you know what I _especially _love?"

Douglas swallows… doesn't know what to think.

"I _especially _love when he starts cryin' and shakin' and looking like he's bein' fuckin' _tortured_ cos he can't have any more of the stuff. Cos I said _no. _Cos I _wanted _him to be sick, I _wanted _him to practically tear his own fuckin' skin apart cos he's so desperate – yeah I _love _that."

"Okay Brendan, I get it…" Doug mutters, voice nearly gone, realising him mistake.

"And you know what else I love, Douglas? I love them scars all over his skin where he cut himself without anybody knowin'. And his boyfriend that _forced _him to fuck other blokes, and how everybody treats him like a scumbag for it… that… _THAT _I especially love."

Douglas is silent. The power of Brendan's declaration seems to have crippled him into speechlessness. He didn't know about the scars then. Didn't know about the life his negligence landed Steven in. Because a couple of aggressive texts sent him running off in the opposite direction.

"So clean yerself up." Brendan says, voice reverting back to lightness. "Wipe your nose there. And get the fuck over it."

And with that he turns on his heel and strides towards the bathroom door.

"Brendan?" Doug calls weakly after him.

Brendan stops, but doesn't give him the gratification of turning around.

"He went into the car park." Doug says, "I saw him getting in your car."

XOXOXOXOXO

"FUCK!" Brendan screams out.

Fucking Douglas was fucking right. The space where Brendan parked his vehicle is empty… nothing but two cigarette butts left behind to mark Steven's presence.

"Fuck, fuck… FUCK!" He kicks a bottle of beer fiercely and it shatters – hard – against the nearest wall.

It's all flashing through his head at the speed of light… a call from the police, a car wreckage, a broken body inside, a funeral with nobody in attendance, the loss of the man he loves – gone forever because a lifetime of heartbreak boiled over in one misguided evening.

"Brendan, come back inside and we'll call the police!" Cheryl calls from behind him. He hadn't even realised she was there.

"No, get back to the party Chez."

Brendan's eyes gloss over the carpark. Now he's going to have to nick one too – just to go after him. Can't have him driving round like a fucking lunatic, drunk and high and distraught the way he is. FUCK. Fuck… fuck…

He hears the blood pumping in his ears with panic. Feels like he could actually pass out from it. FUCK.

"Brendan!"

"I said go inside Chez!"

"No, Brendan…"

Brendan turns. Cheryl is pointing up the hotel driveway… the long stretch of gravelled road that winds around the fountain. And there's Brendan's car. Steven is driving it back up the drive and pretty carefully too, it has to be said.

Brendan blinks, stunned for a moment that he's come back.

And then absolutely furious.

When Steven gets out of the drivers seat, Brendan spares no thought for the sad hopefulness on his face… nor the balloon he holds in his left hand.

He grabs hold of Steven by the scruff of the neck… shoves him hard against the side of the car.

"The fuck d'ye think you're playin' at?!" He hisses furiously.

"BRENDAN!" Cheryl shouts.

"Could've got yerself fuckin' killed – is that what you want?! Take my car and kill yourself in it?!"

"Get off me." Steven snaps, pushes at Brendan but Brendan pushes back harder – feels the impact as Steven slams a second time against the car.

"YOU'RE PUSHIN' YOUR DAMN LUCK!" He shouts. And he's losing it – he knows he is. But fuck. Could have given him a fucking heart attack. He can't lose Steven now. Not now, when he's going to make everything better. Not now, after everything.

"I ONLY WENT ROUND THE CORNER!" Steven screams back.

"THAT'S ALL IT TAKES!"

Brendan lets go of him… has to remove himself from Steven before his anger boils to irreversible levels that he's bound to regret.

He tries to breathe, rakes his hands through his hair in exasperation. God sake, does Steven have _no _care at all for his own wellbeing? He could have gone 'round the corner' and never come back, the state he's in.

"Fucking… fucking IDIOT!" He spits. He kicks the stones hard but its not enough… not enough force... not enough destruction.

Then he points to the balloon, because it seeps in through his cloud of panic and fury and somehow he knows that THAT is the reason for Steven's recklessness.

"The fuck is that for?!" He demands breathlessly.

Steven holds the balloon limply. He looks sheepish all of a sudden… like sense is finally overcoming him.

"I jus' got it for the kids." He mutters. He looks so vulnerable as he asks, "Are they still here?"

But Brendan doesn't have time for vulnerability right now.

He's ruthlessly sharp when he answers, "No! And what? You're gonna take it all back with a death-ride and a BALLOON?!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!"

"ANYTHING ELSE!" Spit flies from Brendan's mouth as he screams it.

Fuck, he needs to calm down. He needs to get away from Steven… clear his mind of those god-awful images of Steven's dead crumpled body, flaming car.

Thankfully… unexpectedly… Cheryl steps in.

Her voice is softer than it's been all night. Responsive to Steven's helpless state.

"Right, come on." She breathes. She takes the balloon lightly from Steven's hand… pushes him gently by the shoulder, "It's just best if you go to the room and sleep this off, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Cheryl." Steven says, and he means it – it rings with earnest self-loathe in his voice.

"Brendan, I'm gonna take Ste upstairs." She says.

Brendan meets Cheryl's eyes – sees genuine concern there, for both of them. She won't cause a fuss now, he can tell. Now isn't the right time and perhaps Cheryl is the only one here with any sense of perspective anymore.

So he allows Steven to be steered inside by her whilst he collapses to squat down and take deep breaths and clear his head.

He follows the anger management guidance from the course he took up in prison. Breathe in… two… three… four. Breathe out… two… three… four. Breathe in… two… three… four. Breathe out… two… three… four.

When he finally goes back to the room twenty minutes later, Steven is curled up in bed with the duvet pulled to his chin. There's a jug of water on the table beside him which Brendan can only assume was given to him by Cheryl. There's also a glass, but Steven's chosen to use it as an ashtray instead. He's put a sock over the bedroom smoke-alarm.

Neither of them says anything as Brendan changes out of his suit, stripping down to his briefs. There's not much to say really… the events of the day having taken their toll and the effects of Steven and alcohol causing Brendan's head to hammer painfully.

He's just happy to collapse down on the mattress, let the comfort of the bedding soothe him. He lets his eyes fall shut and his muscles to sink into relaxation.

When Steven shuffles over and puts his head against Brendan's chest, Brendan does nothing to stop him. Without opening his eyes he folds his arm around Steven's shoulders, strokes the skin of his arm back and forth, back and forth.

This is the way it's always been with them. They've never made apologies. They've shouted and ranted and then made love in the same hour… never addressing it as anything out of the ordinary.

But today it is out of the ordinary. Today there are things that need to be sorted… and with some element of immediacy.

"You can't take drugs anymore." Brendan says.

It seems an obvious thing to say, and yet to both of them it carries more weight than before.

"I know." Steven says quietly.

"I'm gonna get your kids back, Steven. I'm gonna get ye a job. I'm gonna put everything right – but I need you to help me as well."

"I know."

"And I want ye to quit smoking."

"Fuck off."

Brendan laughs. It breaks the tension. He feels Steven's lips form a smile against the hair on his chest. Pulls him closer, if possible, with the fondness caressing warmly in his stomach.

"Okay, fine, one thing at a time." He says.

Things fall into silence after that, and they're both drifting off into an early nights sleep before they're awoken by a tentative knock at the bedroom door.

"Bagsie not me." Steven mumbles sleepily.

Brendan sighs; can't be bothered to argue about it, and stumbles in his half-asleep and half-naked state to the bedroom door.

And is surprised to be confronted by a fully-awake, fully-dressed Douglas. With John-Paul standing slightly back behind him… obviously for support. The coward.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Brendan drawls distastefully.

Douglas's eyes trace nervously past Brendan to Steven… who is now sitting up in the bed with an equally cautious expression.

"Okay, listen," Douglas says, "I've been thinking really hard about this and… I don't know if I'm doing the right thing but…"

He hands Brendan a piece of paper. Brendan takes it, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Is this the reply to my love letter, Douglas?"

"It's Amy's address." Douglas says, silencing Brendan in an instant. "And I'm not giving it to you so you can both go round there shouting the odds, okay? I'm giving it to you cos I'm trusting you to be sober and… and responsible. And because… well because the kids really miss you, Ste, so… you should probably work something out with her."

He adds, with quietness that could be interpreted as shame; "And I think you deserve another chance."

The room is silent for a moment.

It's been a long time since it was the four of them like this, Brendan notes to himself. Tension bounces off every wall.

"Why now?" Steven finally asks, breaking the quiet.

Douglas shrugs, sheepish. He says nothing of his and Brendan's conversation earlier.

"Just… don't make me regret it, okay?" He says.

Steven nods. He looks quite stricken… stunned. It's been a long time since anyone besides Brendan decided to take a chance on him.

"Right." Doug nods, his duty accomplished. He takes one look at Brendan's undressed state and says with an element of un-disguisable distaste, "Sorry for disturbing you."

And then he's gone as quickly as he came, with body-guard John-Paul (looking equally put out by the saga) trailing behind him.

Despite his begrudging gratitude for what's just happened, Brendan still can't help but slam the door right on the backs of their feet.

He climbs back into bed with Steven… places the hand-written address propped up against the water-jug.

"I don't get it." Steven breathes.

"What?"

"Why's everyone bein' nice to me?"

Brendan shrugs, non-committal. "Because, ye deserve it Steven. You're not… you're not as bad as you think you are."

He settles back down under the covers; leaves Steven to sit and reflect on those words for a moment. And Steven's eyes gloss over and fade… like he really is stewing on exactly that.

Next thing Brendan knows, Stevsen's hands are either side of his face, and he's leaning in for one of the deepest, firmest, most grateful kisses Brendan thinks he's ever experienced in his life.

He responds to it immediately; pulls Steven against him so Steven's chest lies above his; their tongues entangling intimately. Brendan folds one hand around the back of Steven's neck, keeping him close, while the other trails tenderly up the back of the lads tshirt, feeling the smooth skin of his back.

He turns him over in one swift surprising motion; has Steven on his back against the mattress, Brendan above him and they kiss deeply and leisurely like they have all the time in the world to do just this. Through the collision of lips and tongues and noses, Steven's legs entangle themselves around Brendan's waist and pull him close, groin to groin.

"Wanna finish what we started this morning?" Brendan growls seductively.

Steven nods with such haste Brendan almost misses it, before he pulls Brendan's vacant lips back against his own.

"I love you." Steven whispers breathlessly between kisses, "Thank you."

Something in the earnestness of that phrase bothers Brendan. He lowers his lips to Steven's neck and sucks the skin there tightly in the way he likes… but he's distracted whilst doing it… disturbed by Steven's gratitude.

After a moment he has to pull away. Steven reaches for lips again but Brendan backs up, out of reach for a second to comment –

"Thank you for what?"

What could Steven possibly thank him for? For prompting this entire mess of a situation to begin with? He's always so quick, so _willing,_ to act like Brendan's deserving of him when the exact opposite is entirely true.

"You've got nothing to thank me for, Steven." Brendan says sombrely.

"Jus'… for bein' you." Steven says, his voice light with honesty.

And his eyes glimmer with a nostalgic old sparkle… the sparkle he used to wear so openly before he spiralled into his dark tunnel. Brendan's momentarily breath-taken by it… stunned in the way he so randomly finds himself sometimes by how much he loves the man beneath him. How impossible he finds it that Steven can love him as much in return.

He's so wrapped up in the ridiculousness of the feeling that he almost misses his mobile ringing.

Steven passes it to him though – has to put it under Brendan's nose before Brendan blinks back into focus.

Brendan sighs, gives Steven a wink that says 'one minute' and answers into the phone, "Yeah? What?"

"Is this Mr Brendan Brady?" A voice he doesn't recognise.

"Yeah…"

"This is DC Fischer speaking."

"Okay…" Brendan mutters, feeling a familiar dread… mind racing as he tries to think of reasons why the fucking police would be calling him right now. "What can I do for ye?"

It's then that the DC Constable tells him about the arson attack… and how in his absence, his flat has been burnt to a mere crisp.

**XOXOXOXOX**

**And this series of events now spiralling out of control is EXACTLY why I should have finished this a few chapters ago! **

**;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Just want to say – because I haven't said so enough – thank you so much for all the generous reviews, it's really appreciated and makes me want to keep going on and on. Hence the quick update and… yup, this. **

**I got gradually more drunk as I wrote this, so do forgive me if it ends bizarrely – by the time I'm writing this, I'm completely pissed! **

**XOXOXOXOX**

All Ste can think about on the journey to Amy's is fire and ashes and the burnt out scraps of Brendan's life. The rubble of his home… the very literal destruction that is Ste's re-entry to his world.

And Andy.

There's no question that it was him that lit the match, spread the fuel.

It forces Ste to confront the man in his mind. He's shut Andy out since that fateful night of his overdose… has managed to barely think about him because to do is too demeaning and painful. But Andy's bombarded his way into the forefront of Ste's current existence – burning away the walls that shield Ste and Brendan from the rest of the world.

How has it come to this?

"Are you okay?" Ste asks tentatively to Brendan, who's been driving pretty much in silence for the whole twenty minutes of their journey.

"Fine." Brendan says, "You?"

"Yeah. I got a bit of a hangover though – have you?"

"A bit."

Things go quiet again. Not uncomfortably so, but Ste can tell Brendan's thinking about his flat… cursing the men that torched it… possibly cursing Ste for being the cause of their vengeance.

"I'm sorry, Bren." He mumbles.

He takes Brendan's hand as he says it... squeezes it tight.

Brendan doesn't deserve any of this. Who knows what was in that flat… how much money, how much paperwork, possessions.

"Hey," Brendan says seriously, "None of this is your fault, ok?"

He lifts Ste's hand, entangled in his, and kisses Ste's knuckles firmly.

The gesture is comforting and intimate enough to make Ste smile. To make him momentarily forget his headache, forget his addiction, which is currently gnawing numbly at him for another fix.

But there will be no other fixes.

Today he gets his children back. And that fire may well be a blessing in disguise for him, because with the flames went his stash and all the temptation that came with it.

"It's like startin' again." He says, thinking out loud. "Innit? All afresh."

"Yeah." Brendan says darkly, "Yeah – I'll put that in my thank you speech to your ex."

"Wh… wait, you're not gonna go see 'im are you?!"

"Course I am. I think me and Andrew have a few words to be sharing."

"Brendan, no!" Ste cries.

Is he crazy?! Even after _this _he wants to confront Andy? Bricks and fireworks are one thing… but did Andy even know the flat was empty when he torched it… or was he after Brendan's blood? It wouldn't be the first time. That knife he held to Brendan's stomach the first time they met is sure to be less hesitant the next time they cross paths.

"You're not seein' him, no way, I won't let ya!" Ste declares.

"You don't get a say in this, Steven. The man's gotta learn some manners."

"No!" Ste's getting worked up now… can feel his heart pounding in panic, because he knows Brendan's serious – always is.

"No! You're not goin' anywhere _near _him – I MEAN it!"

"I'm just gonna tel…"

"WHAT?!" Ste demands, "WHAT are you gonna do?! Cos he's gonna kill you – so what are you gonna do?! Kill him first?! Go back to prison?! Fuck off and leave me again, is that your plan?!"

"Steven I…"

"Well ya may as well turn this car over right now then cos that's both our lives over then, innit?!"

"OKAY!" Brendan cries, "Calm down! Jesus…"

"No, don't '_Jesus' _me!" Ste snaps furiously, "You're a selfish bastard Brendan – you know that?!"

"That man is scum of the Earth!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Ste seethes, "Okay?! All I care about is _you! _Can't you see that?! I'm sorry that a bunch of your precious suits got burnt, kay, but that's _all _it is – it's not important! It's not worth-"

"- There was some important stuff in there!"

Ste growls in frustration. The twat doesn't get it, does he? He's so keen to think he's the big shot… so keen to put people in their place that it comes before _anything _else – he can't even see further than his revenge. Well fuck him then. Let him go and fight Andy, with the odds being either death or imprisonment – let him realise _then _what a big man he is.

"Whatever Brendan. Do what you want."

"Ye don't get it, do you?" Brendan says, before he sighs, deflated, "Forget it."

"What?!"

"No nothin'. You're right – it's not important."

He sounds bitter. Hates to pass up an opportunity for a good fight, evidently.

Well so does Ste, so he continues pushing:

"No, c'mon, what?!"

Brendan remains silent, so Ste pushes more forcefully, "WHA'?!"

"There was an engagement ring in there!" Brendan snaps.

It bursts out of him; irritable, frustrated, aggressive. It's anything _but _breathtaking… and yet Ste finds his breath stuck in his throat… his chest tightening… shocked tears springing behind his eyes like a chemical reaction. It's like in this split second the whole world stops turning… like everything's rocked and changed and Ste's not even in his own skin anymore, but he's somewhere else, in another life, another place…

"What?" He croaks shakily.

"We're here." Brendan says, his voice equally quiet and trembling.

Ste blinks and turns. The car has stopped, and they're at Amy's house.

Brendan's already getting out of the car without another word.

Ste's stunned… perplexed into silence.

Perhaps Brendan hadn't meant to say what he said. It _was _essentially a proposal… wasn't it? Ste can't work it out… and Brendan's already striding outside the car, unable to answer the thousands of questions swarming in Ste's head.

The next second, Brendan's opening Ste's door… motioning for him to get out.

He's not smiling… or embracing Ste like one _would _after a proposal. So maybe it wasn't a proposal at all. Maybe the engagement ring wasn't even for Ste… maybe it was a family heirloom or something, and Ste's internally overreacted. Shit, that must be it. It was just _there, _not there for any _reason… _but it was expensive and now it's destroyed and that's why Brendan's pissed.

As Ste walks up the pathway to Amy's he mentally scolds himself for being so fucking stupid. He hears the word 'ring' and his body immediately reacts as if the word's for him. When why in this world would Brendan… _Brendan… _be proposing? Let alone to a drug-addicted, destructive wreck of a man like Ste.

He brushes the stray tear immediately from his eye, feeling completely foolish.

Brendan is looking at him with penetrating seriousness.

"Steven?" He says solemnly.

Ste blinks out of his daze and looks at him… tries to act casual and not weak-kneed as he answers, "Yeah?"

"Lets just concentrate on gettin' your kids back. Okay?"

Ste nods numbly. Fuck, and they're at the door – he'd hardly even noticed. And Brendan's knocking and the situation suddenly threatens to overwhelm Ste as he realises they've arrived here out of the blue… after everything that happened at the hotel yesterday… and Amy's going to be fuming… and sure enough…

"_What the hell are you doing here?!" _She hisses, outraged, as soon as she opens the door.

Fuck – think. Think think think. _Pull yourself together, _he tells himself.

"Hiya…" he says lamely.

"Ste… how did you get this address?" She whispers urgently, "You shouldn't be here – this is not on!"

"I just wanted to see the kids."

"You can't – we're just going out now; Lucas has got judo."

"Oh – we can take him!"

"Ste, no." Amy says, through gritted teeth, "Please, we can talk about this on the phone, but not here – _please_."

"You never answer my calls though!"

"I will I just…"

"Our flat got burnt down."

He's thinking on his feet. He needs somewhere to stay. Amy needs to help him… them.

"What?" Amy's eyes dart from Ste to Brendan.

"It's true, actually." Brendan says dryly, offering a stiff shrug.

Amy seems momentarily speechless.

And that moment is all it takes. The next minute Leah has turned up to see what's going on. And _shit _she's gotten big. It's even more obvious up close. At nine-years-old she is fashion conscious… has developed her own style, however haphazard. She has flowers in her hair and an arm crowded with glowing wrist-bands and zebra-patterned converse shoes.

And her face breaks into a beam when she sees him.

"Daddy!" She cries.

And she's in his arms. He can't believe it, but after all this time he has her back again. And he grips her so tight as he hugs her it's like he'll never _ever _be able to let go.

Over her shoulder Ste sees Amy's pained expression. He knows this wasn't fair… was downright out of order actually. But in this moment, he doesn't care. Not when he's got his little girl back.

"Where's Lucas?" He asks.

"Upstairs!" Leah beams, "D'ya wanna see 'im?"

"Yeah!" Ste cries, matching her contagious enthusiasm. His face practically hurts with the size of his grin… can hardly dare to believe that this isn't a dream. He feels hazy in the nostalgia of it all… like he's in some weird time-warp, but he intends to make the most of it.

Leah runs off to get Lucas and he feels his chest tighten in anticipation.

"Ste, this really isn't on." Amy says darkly, "I can't _believe _you didn't call me."

"No, but now I'm here now so I may as well spend some time with 'em!"

There are tears in Amy's eyes – sad or frustrated, he doesn't know, but he feels guilt at the sight of them which conflicts with his delight… makes his own tears re-emerge.

"Please Amy…" he says, because he realises he needs her to be with him on this… can't just force it like he is doing, "Please – I'm sorry."

"Yesterday you took _heroin_ and _attacked_ Doug right in front of them." She says.

"I know, but I'm clean now."

"After one nights sleep?!" She cries, "That's not _clean; _that's _waiting _till your next fix!"

"No, Amy I swear, I wanna make this all better, right? Me and Brendan… we're both gonna be here from now on, aren't we Bren?"

"I told you we were gonna sort it Amy." Brendan says sombrely.

Ste finds he can't even look at Brendan when he talks… reacts to the strange sadness in Brendan's voice with a shiver. Whatever happened in the car still lingers heavily in the atmosphere between them… interrupted but still prominent.

Ste licks his lips, feeling nervous by the whole thing –- he needs to focus.

"Just give me a chance, Amy." He pleads, "Please."

They're disturbed again by Leah bounding back, shouting at the top of her lungs:

"Lucas! Lucas! Look who it is!"

"I guess I don't have a choice now, do I?" Amy whispers resentfully.

And then Lucas is there too… and his six years have practically made a man of him. He looks bulky and worldly somehow… like he's grown an attitude that he can effortlessly radiate. Ste finds himself breath-taken once again.

"Hello you!" He beams, voice breaking slightly.

"Hello." Lucas replies.

But he doesn't throw himself at Ste like Leah did. He hangs back… looks unsure. He's not as confident – doesn't have the natural affection.

Three years of no contact to a six-year-old is one substantial amount of time.

Ste's heart drops, sinks, pangs in the pit of his gut. He puts his arms out and his voice sounds needy when he asks, "Are you gonna give daddy a hug?"

Lucas does, because he's been bought up by Amy to be polite and obedient.

But that's all it feels like. Like Lucas may as well be hugging a stranger.

Despite her reservations, even Amy looks apologetic. She's _pitying _Ste now.

"Now listen," Ste says, trying to hide the shake in his voice, keep it together, "I'm sorry, right? About… about everything. But about yesterday too, what happened with Doug… that was wrong. That were really really wrong of me, and I shouldn't have done that, should I?"

Leah and Lucas shake their heads.

"Are you and Daddy Brendan gonna stay with us?" Leah asks.

Ste's stomach flips. _Daddy Brendan. _It must seem to Leah that in the last three years nothing has changed. It's been a really long time, but here they are, same as when she last saw them – _Daddy and Daddy Brendan. _How innocent a thought. How blissful to think that's really the case – that these awful three years didn't happen… and nothing really changed.

Ste can't resist, and replies, "Yeah, we can stay for a bit, yeah. Can we Amy?"

He's putting her in a tough position again, and he hates himself for it… but right now he can't help but be selfish. He just wants to be with them.

Amy purses her lips – looks every bit as cornered as she really is.

"We're going to judo now." She says tightly, "You can stay here and we'll discuss it when we get back. Come on kids."

She takes their hands and guides them away from Ste and Brendan as though running from the devil incarnates themselves. She bundles the kids into the car and Ste can't take his eyes off them the whole time… even gets a shy wave off Lucas as the car speeds out of sight.

But Ste's got his way. He can stay here… at Amy's… and he'll be here when they get back. And he'll get something cooked up for them… he'll play with them on the X-Box… he'll be their daddy again, like nothing ever changed.

He beams at Brendan, hardly able to believe it.

Brendan only manages to give him a stiff smile back.

Something's not right about him. He seems sad and dejected almost… discomfited and cautious with what continues to linger unspoken between them.

Ste tries not to think about it.

He helps himself to the pots and pans in Amy's kitchen and tries to think back to a recipe he might have once known. He feels jittery. The atmosphere is tense between the two of them as they move silently around these new surroundings. It makes Ste jumpy… has to constantly move his hands… he ends up tossing everything and anything into various pans, just so he doesn't run out of things to do.

Anything but think about that engagement ring.

Because God knows, it's _that _that's causing this weird atmosphere between them.

Ste's reaction had been evident – he thought Brendan meant the ring was for him… and Brendan _didn't _mean that. And now things are awkward. Brendan clearly doesn't know what to say, which means at some point or other Ste's going to have to speak up. But to do that would be to admit his mistake. And have Brendan confirm that it was a delusion.

And Ste doesn't know whether he can listen to that. He feels pathetic already and doesn't want to stew on it because there's something fragile about the topic that he doesn't want to address… even to himself.

So instead he bakes and stirs and fries and mixes. He lets the steam hit him and plaster sweat across his brow. He lets the flour mess up his clothes and face. It all feels frightfully familiar, but different at the same time. He has to reacquaint himself with the cooking skill… hasn't done it for such a long time.

"Here, come taste this." He calls eventually to Brendan.

"What is it?"

"Dunno, I were just improvisin'." Ste says, "It's sauce – but it's got banana in it."

"Banana?" Brendan frowns.

"S'for the kids, innit?"

Brendan opens his mouth obediently – will swallow _anything, _Ste thinks – and Ste feeds the sauce to him. He feels the need to be domesticated here… with Brendan… his kids… a proper house that doesn't smell of cigarette butts or worse.

He feels unparalleled contentment when Brendan licks his lips, murmurs, "Mmm. Yeah. See _this – _this I really fuckin' missed."

"D'ya like it?"

"Love it." Brendan says earnestly. He dips his finger into the pan and licks the sauce off in a smooth long drawn-out motion. It looks filthy. More so with the crude _pop _as he releases the digit from his mouth.

He smirks as Ste knowingly. Clocks onto the way that he stares, shameless.

"Brendan." Ste mutters, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. He gives Brendan a nudge with his elbow as reprimand for being suggestive… returns to his cooking. If there's one thing he's _not _doing today, it's having his kids walk in on him 'wrestling' on the kitchen table. No doubt Amy wouldn't be pleased either.

But Brendan misinterprets his disapproval.

Ste can practically _feel _the atmosphere turn frosty again.

"Steven listen," Brendan mutters, "About what I said earlier…"

"Jus' don't worry about it!" Ste says with forced lightness… feels his heart trigger into double-speed at the very subject and hates himself for it. "I didn't think you meant it was for _me_ or anythin'."

Brendan frowns - goes silent for a moment.

Ste stirs the sauce faster, harder… anything to distract himself.

"Well thank God; now I can give it to my other bloke." Brendan says, deadpan.

It's sarcasm… but he's not smiling. Doesn't even sound like he's joking. Sounds pissed off again, if anything.

Ste has no idea what to say. No idea what to think.

So he just mutters sullenly, "Can't. S'burnt remember?"

"Oh yeah."

Brendan turns on his heel – makes his way back to the TV, but Ste won't let him this time; he needs to get this sorted.

"So it _was _for me then?!" He barks after him.

"Once it was, yeah." Brendan says, irritable.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"I bought it ages ago, Steven. I shouldn't've even said anythin' so just forget about it."

"What… actually for _me_?"

"What are you actin' so stupid for?! YES, for you!"

"Wh… _how _long ago?"

"Years ago."

"What, and you've kept it all this time?"

"Till your ex got his little matches out, yeah."

"But I don't get it though…" Ste says, following him toward the sofa, "Why didn't you ever give it to me?"

"Cos I was waitin' for the right moment." Brendan says, then scoffs back a laugh at the irony. "And I sure picked it well, didn't I?!"

Ste can't believe he's hearing this.

Brendan bought him a _ring. _Except not really. He bought that other Ste a ring… that Ste from years ago. And never actually gave it to him. And he still can't really work out where this conversations going, _if _it's going anywhere but he does know for sure what he _wants _Brendan to say and he can't fight it… and it's bursting out of him like he can't stop it…

"Would you _still_ marry me?" He hears himself say.

"What?"

He swipes a tongue across his lip – nervous, vulnerable, holding himself forward for rejection.

"If it wasn't in the fire… would you still keep it for me even now?"

Brendan blinks. Thinks about that for a minute. It might just be a second actually, but time seems to stand still. Ste feels his legs shaking.

"Nothing's changed, Steven." Brendan says seriously, "Not for me."

"Well nothing's changed for me either." Ste says quickly, and finds he really means it. What he's feeling now… the nerves, the butterflies, the sheer intensity of his desire for Brendan's love… it's all exactly the same as it ever was.

"I was gonna propose to _you _– remember I said?!" He goes on, "And that were just gonna be with a piece of bread so… so it doesn't really matter that the ring got burnt, you know."

Brendan looks at him thoughtfully. He doesn't say anything – just listens, and that makes Ste babble on even more:

"So, like, if you _did… _if what you said in the car… cos it was timed all wrong weren't it? And if you wanted it to be timed right… like, properly, then… you _can_, you know."

"Can what?" Brendan says quietly.

"Ask me."

Ste finds himself just standing there… waiting. If he was in any right mind there's no way he'd throw himself into such an exposed situation… but right now there's _nothing _more he wants then to hear Brendan say those words. It's as if _everything _depends on it, and maybe it does.

He wants to be with Brendan all the time, forever, because he _needs _him and he loves him so much and doesn't want to be parted from him again. Can't imagine Brendan being torn from him another time. And he wants Brendan to want that too. So badly he does.

"Steven…" he sounds regretful. Shit.

"You don't want to. That's okay!" Ste says hurriedly, "No, I know things are dead different now an'…"

"Steven, shut the hell up for one second would ye?!" Brendan sighs, exasperated.

"Alright!" Ste snaps, defensive, "Sorry for openin' my mouth!"

It makes Brendan laugh. The fucker.

But he's standing, and he takes Ste's face between his hands in a way that calms and settles Ste in an instant… like he becomes hypnotised by the sincerity of Brendan's eyes.

"If we get married, we're gonna do it properly." Brendan says. "With your kids and with my kids and without drugs and psycho ex's okay?"

"Okay." Ste whispers. He's powerless to do anything _but _agree when Brendan gets him like this.

He swallows, finds Brendan's eyes and mumbles, "So… we _will? _One day?"

"One day. Yeah."

"Okay." His voice is practically gone. He feels light and breathless… can't believe this is actually happening to him. "And can I… can I tell people we're engaged then?"

Brendan smirks, "What people?"

"I dunno, like… facebook people." Ste replies. He hasn't been on facebook in years, but this would be quite some comeback to make. He always used to fantasise about one day posing 'engaged to Brendan Brady' and now he can.

Brendan laughs, smiles "Yeah, you can tell facebook people. Can _I _tell people?"

"Yes." Ste says immediately, and laughs breathlessly, "Definitely."

He doesn't care how eager he sounds. It doesn't matter. Brendan wants to _marry _him. HIM. He's ALWAYS wanted to. And still does now, even with everything. In sickness and in health, just like the saying.

Right now Ste doesn't care or want for anything but that. He wraps his arms around Brendan's neck and kisses him for what seems like an eternity, until he doesn't know the difference between up or down and when Brendan lays him on the floor, he could be on the fucking ceiling for all he can tell.

All the nerves in his body vibrate for the man above him – scream out for him. When Brendan kisses in the crook of his shoulder blade, he feels his whole skin pulsate with it… no part of him able to get enough of the man. They move in synchronisation; Brendan pulling Ste's jogging bottoms off as Ste tears off Brendan's shirt – ripping some buttons in the process, which Brendan barely seems to notice.

Their mouths meet, and then when Brendan moves down to kiss Ste's neck he does it with such fervent lust that Ste feels his toes curl, wraps his hands in Brendan's hair, his legs around his waist. He feels Brendan's cock against the inside of his thigh, hard already and for _him, _always.

"D'you think we have time?" Ste gasps, breathless.

"Yes." Is all Brendan replies

Neither of them say it… but it's clear that Amy and the kids aren't coming home tonight. She's taken them away… probably to Mike's… where Ste can't bombard in and corrupt them. Somewhere beneath his current ecstasy, Ste hurts with this unspoken knowledge. But more powerful is that feeling of determination… the knowing that he _will _get his kids back, he _will _get clean, he _will _prove them wrong, he _will _marry Brendan Brady.

Brendan swallows Ste down, takes all of him, holds his hips to the ground and sucks him until Ste's crying out, all digits clenched and trying to keep his breath, slurring and mumbling incoherent phrases. He lets Brendan take charge… is compliant when Brendan shoves him onto his stomach, and allows himself to be shamelessly manoeuvred as Brendan drags his hips into the air, forcing him onto his knees.

His legs tremble beneath him as Brendan teases his hole; lightly fingering and then licking with tiny fast-paced slides of the tongue. He rests his forehead against the carpet… tries to calm down because, fuck, if he doesn't he's going to come and he can't do that - _needs _to have Brendan inside him.

Brendan brings him back to reality with a sharp slap on his arse.

When Ste turns to see him, Brendan's grinning; large and wolfish – eyes shining deviously. Fuck, he's sexy. _So_ sexy, and Ste wants him so much he can hardly stomach the power of it.

He can't take this anymore; needs Brendan _now. _

He takes control. He turns around, pushes Brendan backwards and straddles his lap, still inconveniently covered with his suit trousers. Ste spares no time for foreplay; tugs down the zipper of Brendan's fly and releases his cock, feeling the largeness and hardness in his palm.

"I want you," he whispers huskily.

Brendan pushes his mouth against Ste's, sucks and then bites on his bottom lip and tugs. And whispers gruffly, "Get on it then."

That's the only instruction Ste needs. He takes hold of Brendan by the base of his cock, lines him up and begins to sink down on him. It's painful at first and he winces at the intrusion but doesn't stop… _revels _in feeling Brendan right up inside of him. Revels in the way Brendan helplessly closes his eyes and hisses, "Ffffuckkk…"

Ste can feel every little bit of him. Every inch, moving deeper and deeper – doesn't stop until he's fully seated on Brendan's lap. Brendan's hands glide soothingly down his back with loving intimacy, and then grab at his butt-cheeks tightly. He starts moving inside of him. Fast. Relentless.

"Oh God," Ste moans, lips grit between his teeth.

He rides out every thrust… hears the slap of arse against balls as Brendan pounds into him… feels the friction pulse through his entire body.

Brendan doesn't stop at all – he keeps his eyes on Ste intently as Ste moans and gasps, body bouncing against Brendan's movements. Every plunge hits the spot inside of him until he can barely see… clenches his fingers around Brendan's upper-arms just to hold onto something. He can feel the orgasm building up inside of him and hasn't even touched himself – it's all just _Brendan; _up inside him, lips on his neck, hands on his thighs and neck and hair.

"Urrr, don't stop…" Ste pleads, clenches his eyes shut as he feels the sensation rise in his stomach and groin.

Of course he doesn't. If anything, Brendan goes faster… harder, until Ste's body's not his own anymore… just the puppet of Brendan's movements. And FUCK it feels incredible. He feels bloodless… limp… out of control, but _completely _trusting as he cries out and climaxes – spilling across his own and Brendan's stomach.

Brendan slows but doesn't stop.

He manoeuvres them so that Ste's back on the carpet, on his back, and Brendan moves in and out of him still, but this time slow and tender. He continues to fuck Ste through his orgasm, so when Ste sees nothing but bright light and hears nothing but white noise, he can still _feel _every bit of Brendan with him.

Brendan Brady, his fiancé.

Brendan Brady, the love of his life.

Brendan Brady, his saviour.


	15. Chapter 15

**I find it hard to write chapters that aren't driven by Ste, so that's why this chapter took a little longer, sorry! **

**XOXOXOX**

Steven looks thoroughly fucked, Brendan thinks to himself idly the next morning. He's fast asleep beside Brendan on the floor of Amy's living room; a sofa-cushion stuffed under his head and a pink woollen throw tossed over his naked body. His hair is gelled by sweat and sticking out in mindless places… his face still holds a mid-sex flush and he looks in the deepest sleep Brendan's seen him since getting out of prison. Three relentless rounds can do that to a person.

And there's a smile on his lips. It's faint in his sleep, but instantly recognisable. The same smile he slept with in Dublin after they finally got back together after all that time. The same smile he slept with when the kids adopted Brendan as their "daddy". It's a 'things-are-looking-up' smile. And that's a heavy weight on Brendan's shoulders already with the pressure he instantly feels to maintain it.

He creeps from under the throw, groans lightly as his back aches. Whose idea was it to sleep on the fucking floor? He finds a couple of post-its and a pen and scribbles down a note for Steven when he wakes up:

"Going to sort out the flat. Pick you up later. Good luck with Amy."

He adds an "X" at the end, because stupid little things like that used to mean something to Steven, and perhaps they still do.

It takes an astonishing thirty minutes before the magnitude of their 'engagement' overcomes him.

He's driving at the time, and a call comes through with an old photo of Steven grinning to signify it's from him.

"Hey," Brendan smiles into the phone.

"_Hiya._" Steven says. He sounds chirpy; his voice ringing with a nostalgic old enthusiasm that Brendan hadn't realised how much he missed until now.

"How ye feelin'?" Brendan says with a smirk. Sore, he bets.

"_Fine." _Steven says, "_You gonna go see Cheryl today?"_

"Might do. Why?"

"_Are you gonna tell 'er then? About us? Bein' engaged?"_

And that's when it hits him.

FUCK.

It's not that he doesn't want to be with Steven forever – of course he does. Not that he doesn't just naturally expect to – he _does. _It became clear at some point or other over the years of being on and off that he and Steven were inevitably going to end up dancing this dance until they were old or dead.

But when Brendan had bought the ring all those years ago, it had been one hell of a big deal. He remembers even now the way his palms had sweat and he couldn't even fucking eat on the way to the ring store because what he was doing was such a fucking huge deal. He was committing his life to somebody. A man. Steven.

He'd decided then that when he proposed, he was going to do it right. The one thing he might actually be able to do properly in their relationship (first time for everything) just like Steven deserved. The ring stayed in the inner-pocket of his suit jacket for weeks and despite a number of close calls where Steven went rummaging for cash or gum, it remained a complete secret.

And then Amy had shown up. And the kids had been taken. And everything seemed to start spiralling out of control until that day… that fateful day… _"Brendan Brady, I am arresting you on suspicion of sexual assault."_

Brendan pulls over the car, closes his eyes and rests his head against the steering wheel. Fuck. Things had spiralled out of control last night as well. A fucking engagement amidst all this shit? A gay ex-convict and his drug-abuser lover, who together have a series of criminal records, a burnt down flat, an ex with a dangerous vendetta, and not enough supportive relatives to even qualify a witness.

And Brendan had only wanted the fucking wedding because it was to be their opportunity to do things _right_, and for Brendan to prove himself.

He cares about these things. Weddings – stuff like that – they actually _mean _something to him; vows before God and the conventional commitment he'd been bought up to believe in. It's more than just an act of wild romance, which he suspects is all Steven sees it as.

"Jesus." He mutters. They may as well just get hitched in a borstal and be done with it now, which is neither right _nor _romantic.

Steven calls again just as Brendan is walking up the steps to his flat.

He rejects the call… dips under the police-tape that sections off his expensive but diminished suite.

They were right when they said it was burnt to a crisp.

There's nothing left of the place.

Andy and his crew must have done a good job on the petrol to cause this level of damage so quickly. Brendan can't even make out where his sofa or TV was. It's all just ash. The bedroom is gutted. All his clothes, possessions, paperwork gone. The few photographs he had, gone. The letters he kept from Steven, gone. The engagement ring, gone.

And all because some crack-head pimp can't let an old blood feud lie.

"Your insurance should cover most of it." His solicitor drones on when Brendan goes to visit him. "But I can't expect it to come through in the very near future so... you're going to be looking for somewhere to stay, perhaps for quite some time."

"I was gonna get a new place anyway." Brendan dismisses, nonchalant.

"You're being incredibly casual about this."

"It is what it is."

"And you're _sure _you don't know who could be responsible?"

The guys off his head if he thinks Brendan's letting the _police _handle this. The police can't get anything right.

"No idea." He says seriously. "But I intend to find out."

XOXOXOXOXOX

He gets _another_ call from Steven as he's driving to the council block. He has half a mind to reject it again… guilt already consuming him that he's going against Steven's wishes and paying Andy a visit.

But he glances down at Steven's grinning face bleeping at him from his phone and sighs in defeat, answering, "Hey, you okay?"

"_Hiya_." Steven says. His chirpiness has left him. He sounds nervous now.

"You alright? Why'd you keep callin'?"

"_Yeah I'm fine._" He sounds a little _forceful _in being fine. A little eager to make conversation, without having any real purpose to do so…_ "How was the flat?_"

"What flat? There is no flat."

"_Oh right…_" Steven mutters, "_So there's nothin' left at all then?_"

"Nope."

"_Where are you now?"_

Brendan swallows. He's a good liar, but it's not something he enjoys with Steven. Steven who shows so much faith in him and loves him despite everything he's done… he doesn't deserve to be lied to.

But he has to, about this.

"I'm at the solicitors, it's taking ages. Is Amy not there?"

"_No, she's not back yet_." He says, sounding even more fretful than before. "_She can't stay away forever though, can she? She has to come back some time!_"

"She'll be back. Just stay put for a couple more hours."

"_Yeah. Hey… you've not told the solicitor about Andy, have ya? Cos you know what'll happen and…" _

Steven continues to talk but his voice blurs to a mere distraction as something catches Brendan's eye: Andy's cronies… leaving the flat. There are three of them – all as brutish and fucking ugly as he remembers them, and one of them holding a lead with a pitbull terrier at the end of it. Brendan almost laughs at how fucking cliché these arseholes are. Ticking all the damn boxes to guarantee maximum impact. They even push their way past a couple of twelve-year-old hooded lads on the iron stairs. Acting the big men, even to a couple of kids.

Fucking jokes.

"_Brendan? Are ya listenin'?!"_

"I gotta go, Steven."

"_Oh right. Ok, well I'll see ya lat…"_

Brendan hangs up the phone, gets out of the car. He has to move now if he stands any chance of getting Andy alone. He's not scared of those muppets, but he'd rather attempt to do this properly, man to man, without the chorus of druggies bleating on in the background.

When Brendan knocks, the door opens on a chain… Andy's unfocussed eyes leering through the gap to see who's disturbing him.

Brendan feels instantly sick at the sight of the bastard. The snake who put needles in Steven's arms, and a gun in his hands. Who took his boy and smoked out the soul that Brendan already tainted – leaving nothing but the wretched remains. Who pimped him out to his friends; brandishing his body like a spliff to anybody who fancied a quick drag.

Brendan forces a smile onto his own face, but it's stiff and cold.

"Brendooooo!" Andy leers, faintly surprised but his voice laced with a stoners laziness, "I was wonderin' when you'd turn up here."

"Andrew." Brendan drawls. "Think we need a chat. Don't you?"

Andy shuts the door, and Brendan listens to the sound of the scraping chain as Andy unlocks it. He pushes his fists into the pockets of his suit… needs to stay calm and not follow his instinct, which is to strangle the living daylights out of that cunt as soon as he can get his hands on him.

Then he's face to face with him again… and Andy's wearing a tracksuit with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps; brandishing his needle-marks as blatantly as he brandishes his tattoos.

He outstretches his arms to Brendan and hisses, "Come for some more 'ave ya?!"

"I was thinkin' we'd leave the knives this time. I've had enough of childs play."

Brendan steps past him into the flat and is immediately overcome with the smell of sweat and sex and cigarettes. He glances briefly into the living room as he passes… they're not alone. There are two women here, one watching TV and one passed out with a bong dangling from her bony arm. Fucked, both of them. Half-dressed. Neither one will even notice he's here.

"You've not bought my boy with you, then?" Andy asks as he shuts the front door.

Brendan feels shiver run up his spine… his fists tighten inside his pockets.

But he keeps his voice steady… practically calm… as he responds, "Thought we should do this just us two."

He glances at the bedroom door and remembers the last time he was here, dragging Steven's sweat-soaked, shivering, limp and violated body from the bed.

He should have killed Andy there and then.

"I'll be wantin' him back at some point." Andy slurs. "We got unfinished business."

Brendan flinches distastefully.

"Oh yeah? What's that then?"

"S'tough to find a fuck as good as that one – I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Huh." Brendan mutters – a short noise tainted in disgust and contempt.

What he wouldn't give to wipe the smug sneer from this mother-fuckers face. To watch the blood drain from him in fear as he's forced to confront his own foolishness. Foolish for ever _daring _to treat Steven the way he did.

Instead he meets Andy's smirk with a laugh… short and stiff at first but then it grows more manically. And Andy's laughing with him – a battle of sick humour – and who's going to snap first?

Brendan's fist moves lightning-fast, and he feels ribs crunch under the impact… Andy sinking to the floor in agony.

That stops them both laughing.

Immediately.

The hospitalities are already over.

"What you gonna do Brendo?" Andy wheezes from the floor, "Beat the shit outta me? Get banged up again? Don't think our Stevie would like that, would he?"

"He'd thank me for riddin' the world of a sick disease." Brendan hisses

"I 'elped him. Took 'im in when _you_ left 'im high and dry. And he was very _very _grateful."

He emphasises 'very' in a way that makes Brendan's stomach twist, mouth go dry.

"Ye lookin' for another slap?" Brendan hisses.

Andy laughs, cold and bitter, "Yeah. He said you was the jealous sort. Said 'e preferred 'em like me; liberal, y'know? Give n' take."

Brendan releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding – his patience wavering, his fists trembling. He drops to his knees so his face is right up close to Andy's; _daring _him to continue speaking.

"Used to talk about you a lot actually." Andy says plainly.

Because he _knows_… he knows that'll spare his life another few seconds. That Brendan won't be able to resist knowing _what. _

"Said you was a fucking PRICK." Andy spits.

A bit of flem flies out and catches Brendan on his cheekbone.

But behind Andy's determined ferocity, his resolve for aggression… is fear. Brendan can _smell _it on him. Not so fucking tough without his buddies backing him up. Not so tough now the bloke can't even _see _or _talk _properly – too overcome with his accelerating drug habit.

Brendan slowly raises two fingers… flicks the man's spit from his face.

The fear makes Andy talk more, and it's _satisfying. _

"Used to go on about ya like a fuckin' parrot. Called out your name when he was fuckin' one of the lads once – the guy must've shared your greasy cock!"

Brendan hits his face this time. Quick – hard – relentlessly powerful.

And blood spurts, and it's all Brendan can do to not hit again, to hold back. He's not here to kill the guy… he can't lose control… has Steven to think of…

"Now listen to me," He whispers hushedly in Andy's ear, "You're not gonna come anywhere near my property again. You're not gonna come anywhere near _me _again. And you're not gonna come anywhere near _Steven _again – do you understand me?"

"You think I'm scared of you, Brady?"

Blood dribbles from between his lips as he wheezes it.

He has every fucking reason to be scared.

"Andrew," Brendan says steadily, "I said… do you understand me?"

Andy's got too much pride to back down – would rather die than admit defeat, and Brendan knows it; has encountered many like it before.

He's a fucking fool. A stupid arsehole who's pushing his luck and continues to push it further:

"Our Stevie will be _gagging _for a needle any day now. He knows where his bread's buttered, Brendo, d'you know what I'm sayin'?"

"No, what're ye sayin'?" Brendan chimes, teeth grit, indulging the man whilst readying his fist for his final blow.

"I'm sayin' if you want him back, you're gonna have to get used to 'im with a needle in 'is arm and my cock in his mouth as a fee."

"Oh, is THAT what you're sayin?" Brendan whispers. His whole body is shaking with pent-up anger and the difficulty of suppressing it. He feels near hysterical; his skin trembling with the desire to silence, damage, slaughter.

"S'alright, Brendo." Andy says, "I dun't mind sharin'."

Brendan's fist slams straight in the mans temple, and that's it – his head lolls backwards as if entirely separate from his neck.. like a rag doll... like a goggle-eyed puppet as his pupils roll around before his eyes shut and he falls limp.

The man who abused and exploited and used and _raped _falls heavy in Brendan's arms – blood pouring from his nose and decidedly unconscious.

For a while there's nothing filling Brendan's ears except white noise… a loud whistling of anger and adrenaline.

But voices begin to seep in… a woman's… and one of the girls from the living room is shrieking and crying, "Oh my God! Alicia – call an ambulance, look what this fuckin' psycho's done!"

Brendan rises silently and moves towards the front door… numb… removing himself from Andy's body strewn across the floor.

He doesn't feel any regret. Only that justice is done.

And once he's away from the flat, all he can think of is Steven. Of his shining eyes and beaming smile and shameless sentiments. And how _that scumbag _took all of those things… and what he did with them.

He pulls up at the nearest bathroom facility. Washes the blood from his hands. And then the nearest jewellers to find a proper replacement for that engagement ring.


	16. Chapter 16

He feels funny. On edge. Surrounded by the empty silence of Amy's flat, and very little to distract him from the continual ache in his body muscles – his nerves pining for that release. The release that only comes with a needle.

His stomach hurts with the need, and it's been hurting for hours but he could escape the sensation when Brendan was here... when they were talking of marriage of having sex in that way that they do.

He calls Brendan now – looking for that distraction by any means possible. Only trouble is Brendan's not one for idle chit-chat, especially over the phone. So when Ste babbles determinedly to him and asks him questions, Brendan cuts him off…

"_I gotta go, Steven." _

Obviously he has to. He's with his solicitor… trying to sort out the wretched remains of his home. He doesn't have time for Ste's aimless spiels.

"Oh right. Ok. Well I'll see ya later then, yeah?" Ste asks.

He pictures Brendan coming to collect him, taking him home and fucking him, and both of them pretending for another few hours that Ste's skin isn't constantly shaking from his withdrawal.

Brendan doesn't reply, and Ste's responded to by the low hum of the dial-tone.

He takes a deep breath and tries to slow down his heartbeat, currently beating more rapidly. Somewhere beneath his determination there is a voice screaming out in panic that he's not going to be able to do this. It's been little more than 24 hours since his last fix, and his body already feels like it's collapsing in on itself.

But he is determined. So he looks at the photos of his kids and takes deep breaths, and bites down on his lip hard and digs his fingernails into his skin and clenches his phone up in his fist to stop himself from calling Brendan again and _begging _him to come back. Or just make noise. _Anything _to stop the silence. _Anything _to stop him hearing the sounds of that ticking clock, which seems like it's just counting down until the moment he caves and fails everybody.

Relief floods him when he hears the key in the front door-lock. And when Amy walks in, pouted mouth and stern eyes, it's all he can do to not throw himself at her.

But he can't.

She's angry.

Angry at him for barging in, angry at him for punching Doug, angry at him for screwing up everything, and never stopping.

"I'm sorry." He says immediately. Just needs to say anything – to keep alert, and functioning like a normal human being and not show her that he's weak. That's the last thing she needs to see, when he's here to prove himself.

"You have got some nerve." She says darkly, tossing her handbag onto the coffee table.

"Where are the kids?"

"At my dad's." Amy replies, "I couldn't trust you'd be sober if I bought them back."

"Course I am, I've been with Brendan haven't I?"

Amy says nothing. Just looks at him expectantly.

Waiting for him to leave maybe.

But Ste doesn't even feel that intimidated by her anger. He's happy to see her regardless. It's been _so _long. And she looks gorgeous; long hair falling to her elbows and even a slight tan from her travels, which looks good on her.

"I've missed ya." He says honestly.

His need to keep talking and reacting is overweighing the need to keep his dignity.

And Amy's face softens, only slightly.

"I'll put the kettle on." She says.

XOXOXOXOXO

For a little while their conversation is polite… uncontroversial. Amy tells Ste about the kids and her boyfriend, Simon. She tells him about their travels and Leah's worrying obsession with fake tattoos and Lucas's with motorbikes. She even goes as far to joke about his likeliness to Ste, what with his fascination for speed-driving. Ste smiles warmly at the thought.

"Wish I coulda seen 'im learnin' to ride a bike." He says sadly, "Did Simon teach him?"

"Both of us, yeah." Amy replies. She looks awkward but keeps her voice firm and unapologetic.

Because it's Ste's fault after all, not hers.

That's when things go silent… stale. The real important topic lingers over them suffocating.

"Look…" Ste swallows, "Ames… I just… I dunno, I…"

He tries to think of the words… _anything_ to explain how he could have lost it so completely, become the shell of his former self, becoming unobtainable to his own children and let them go like that.

"I couldn't cope." He finishes quietly.

"I know." Amy says, "And I'm sorry, Ste. Just… Simon was telling me I needed to live my _own _life and… and by the time I realised how bad things had got, it was too late. I couldn't speak to you."

She pauses, before whispering, "Do you even remember? When I came to see you?"

Ste blinks. He doesn't remember anything of the sort, and his heart sinks in dread.

"It's when you were moving out of your flat." She says. "And I came round and just… you _scared_ me, Ste. And I told you _then _that you had to sort yourself out and that you couldn't see the kids otherwise but… I dunno, it was like you couldn't hear. You were just… like a whole other level of high and I didn't know _what _to do."

"I don't remember anything from then." Ste mumbles, ashamed.

"You hated everyone."

"No!" Ste protests immediately, because he knows that's not true. He never hated Amy – ever. She's his best friend, always, no matter how fucked up he gets or how fucked up everything gets around him. She's his saviour, in more ways than one, and he'll never _ever _forget it.

"I was never angry at you." He says earnestly. "Y'know… when I was with Andy I was _always _tellin' him all about ya. Even though he didn't care, I still told him a…all about your travellin' and… and how your dead clever and how brave you are…"

"Ste." She sighs, like she wants him to stop.

"No really!" He insists, "I know you think I was different or… or not there or whatever but… I never forgot you Amy, ever. I love you, don't I?"

There are tears in Amy's eyes as she reviews him.

Her gaze lingers on his face and then travels down to his hands and she mutters – "You're really shaking."

"I'm fine." He says, perhaps too forcefully. "I haven't had breakfast yet."

He tries to force himself to sit still. He tries to force his skin to stop trembling and his palms to stop sweating and his skin to stop switching from hot to cold and the nausea to go away. Because he _can't _fuck this up. He has to get Amy and the kids back.

"Ste," Amy breathes – and her voice has what Ste always used to refer to as the 'teacher tone'… where she sounds dead serious and orders his complete attention.

"What?" He says, nervous… defensiveness creeping in.

"I don't want Leah and Lucas to have the life that _you_ had when you were a kid." She says gravely, "I don't want them to have a parent who's only _half_ there when he's speaking to them."

"I know."

"And _you_ don't want that either, do you?"

Ste takes a deep breath – is torn between agreeing with what he _knows _is true… and shouting bloody murder. _THEY'RE __MY__ KIDS, I CAN SEE THEM WHENEVER I WANT!_

"…. No." He answers shakily after a moment.

"I know that… today you're okay, and you're sober and that's good. But that doesn't mean you will be tomorrow. And I'm not naïve enough to think it _does, _and Brendan shouldn't be either."

Ste feels tears prickle in the backs of his eyes. He's losing. This isn't going the way he wants it to go, and the _worst _thing is Amy's right. Just like she always is. He's in no fit state to be a father to those kids, not yet, and that's the worst thing about all of this.

"I'm really tryin'." He says tearfully… but it sounds feeble and pointless.

"I _know_, Ste, and I'm _so _proud of you. I am. I _am._"

"I'm gonna get better."

"I know. I believe you."

She really sounds like she does, and it's comforting.

"And I can see them then?" He says slowly, choosing his battle, "When I'm completely better?"

"Yes."

Again, he feels that she _means _it. He feels a smile shimmer on his own lips.

"Doug said they miss me… is that true?"

"Yeah!" Amy cries, full of over-the-top enthusiasm that doesn't meet her eyes. Like she's talking to a child.

But Ste needs to hear it– doesn't even _care _that he's being patronised. He just wants Amy to keep talking like this because he doesn't have enough strength or hope in him to do it on his own.

"And do they miss Brendan?" He presses.

But then Amy goes quiet.

All it takes is that moment of silence for Ste's whole resolve to feel like its crumbling on tenderhooks, and he internally _pleads _with her – say yes. _Tell me they miss Brendan like mad, that you want to give Brendan another chance, that Brendan and I are destined for success, that I can marry Brendan like a normal person and we'll live happily ever after._

"Ste…" Amy says, reluctantly "What I said about them not having the life _you _did… that includes abusive step-parents."

Ste feels that lurch, like when one misses a step.

"What are you tryin' to…"

He's interrupted by his phone ringing. He grabs it; desperate to hear the low Irish drawl that settles him in an instant.

But it's not Brendan.

"Steven Hay?"

"Yeah?"

"Your boyfriend has been admitted into hospital."

XOXOXOX

Ste feels his heart is in his throat as he tears through the corridors of the hospital. He can't understand… the man on the phone said Brendan had head injuries… how had he got head injuries when he was at the solicitors?!

The receptionist is excruciatingly slow in responding to his demand for directions. Her eyes peer over her glasses at him with concern, and she says "Are you okay, sir? Are you here to see a specialist?"

"W…what? No!" Ste snaps irritably, dismissing the woman's words and insisting, "I wanna find the head injury unit!"

Once he's found out he tears into the ward, nearly taking down two nurses in the process. So quick he is that his mind takes about thirty seconds to catch up with his legs:

He blinks stupidly… reviewing _Andy_ in the hospital bed.

"Alright stranger?" Andy says silkily. His voice is cracked with pain and injury. His head is bandaged. His face blooded and bruised.

"Andy…" Ste whispers, finding it hard to find his voice.

"You look surprised."

Ste tries to think back to the phonecall… Had the man actually specified that _Brendan _was in hospital? Or was this some kind of sick joke?

"I… I thought they said Brendan was here…" He mutters numbly, but then realises… "They said my boyfriend was here."

"Well I _am _your boyfriend…" Andy says, as though it's obvious, "Till further update."

Ste doesn't know what to do. He just hovers awkwardly in the doorway… reeling. His mind feels fucked; a mixture of confusion and fading panic. He doesn't know whether to shout, run or feel concern. How the hell did _Andy… _strong, thuggish Andy… get himself _beaten up?_

"You look like shit, baby." Andy interrupts his thought stream, "Fuck is up with you?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Ste mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow; the wetness of withdrawal.

"Some psycho fuck paid me a visit."

Ste tries to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"What… like a deal gone wrong or somethin'?" He asks, willing that to be true.

Andy smiles gently.

"I always liked that about you, baby." He says.

"What?"

"That you're thick as _fuck_."

Ste grits his teeth, spins on his heel, snaps, "Right, I'm goin'!"

"It was your tash-man playmate!" Andy confirms loudly, making Ste fall to a halt in the doorway.

For a second all he hears is white noise… the internal ringing of fury and anger that can transcend itself into a fist against flesh. The cloud of red that used to have him beat and torture.

Brendan's betrayed him.

Gone against his wishes.

Lied. Potentially jeopardised his freedom from bars.

And with it, their relationship.

He feels his fists tremble in his tracksuit pockets, and for the first time it's nothing to do with the withdrawal.

But his voice comes out surprisingly steady when he breathes, "Have you told the police?"

"I dunno. Depends if you want me to."

"Why would I want you to?"

"Well I dunno – I've got no idea what's goin' on with you and that fuckin' psycho, do I?! You hated 'im, last I 'eard! I thought you and _me _were together, baby. Only two fucking years, but then you're gone, fucked off – and I've got no idea whether he's kidnapped you or what! What am I supposed to think?!"

Ste blinks… had never even thought about it like that. Between reacquainting with Brendan and the pains of getting clean, he'd never even considered his haze of a life back with Andy… struggles to even remember what it entailed.

"I'm… I'm back with Brendan." He says simply. "Together, I mean."

He suddenly feels like he's breaking up with somebody, and it's bizarre. He never even really _had _that kind of relationship with Andy… not really… but they _were _together. And Andy's right… he _had _just taken off without a word.

"Right." Andy reflects, "Thanks for finally lettin' me know."

"I'm sorry."

Should he be apologising? Andy burnt down Brendan's flat, after all. And treated Ste like shit when they were together, not that Ste really has a right to complain about _that, _seeing as he didn't at the time.

"As long as you're happy, baby, that's all that matters." Andy says, "At least I know now, eh?!"

"Yeah." Ste says. He can't think of any other words.

"I was gettin' fuckin' worried about ya!" Andy chuckles joylessly. "Listen baby – I need you to do me a favour. I got a stash back at mine, yeah, I need you to bring it here for me; I'm gaggin'."

"No, I can't!" Ste insists automatically, physically backing away from Andy's bed, "I can't – I'm clean now."

Andy scoffs. "I'm not askin' you to snort it, I'm askin' you to bring it here!"

Ste feels a wave of panic. Even the _mention _of the substance has his body reacting with vigorous need – surging in pain and desperation, itching and prickling harshly. His stomach moans and winds agonizingly as if _begging _him for its food… its drug.

"Y…you can't have it here anyway," he tries to reason weakly, "They'll see ya – they won't let ya."

"They've already figured out I'm on the smack, kidda, it's hardly a fuckin' secret is it?!"

"Well… can't you get one of your mates to bring it?"

"Right. Fine." Andy sighs, "Take my key, yeah? Go to the flat and tell one of the lads to get down 'ere – sharpish. I'm not messin' about!"

Ste hesitates… eyes wavering towards the flat keys on the side table.

If he does this for Andy… then maybe they'll be even. Maybe everything will be okay again.

Ste's hands linger and he picks up the keys… leaves them hovering in midair above the surface.

"Andy… you're not gonna tall the police about what Brendan did to you, are ya?" He whispers.

Andy scoffs – sees right through him, "You ain't tryin' to blackmail me, baby, are ya? You wouldn't do that to me."

"Please." Ste pleads shakily. "Please Andy… I…"

"I what?"

"I can't lose him again." Ste admits quietly.

Andy reflects on these words… really _looks _at Ste. Ste doesn't know if he's even ever had a conversation with Andy like this before. Amidst their constant haze of being annihilated it seems unlikely. The moment now is intense in a way it has never been with them before.

"Please." He whispers again. He'll get on his knees and _beg_ if he has to.

"I wouldn't do that to you, baby." Andy replies – his voice crackling softly off the walls. "Besides, I hate the fuckin' feds, don't I?"

"Yeah."

"Just get the boys to bring me my stash, won't ya?"

"Yeah."

"And if you ever get fed up of tash-man… I'm still gaggin' for it."

"…Yeah." Ste mutters… but he's distracted now…

…In the window behind Andy's bed, Ste sees Brendan striding down the hospital corridors, his eyes scanning each room frantically.

Brendan's eyes finally find Ste… his expression unreadable.

"I've gotta go." Ste says… already marching from the room.

The cloud of red is back. He's angry… fucking furious… LIVID…

His body is shaking and alive with emotion unlike anything he's felt for years.

"Get the FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" He screams… tearing his throat apart with the sheer volume of it as Brendan reaches out for him.

"The hell are you doin' here – I said wait at Amy's!" Brendan cries.

As if he's angry.

As if _he's_ got a god damn right to be _angry. _

"You went behind my back – I told you NOT to go near 'im!"

"Shhhh!" Brendan hisses, "Keep yer voice down, will ye?!"

"No, just GET LOST Brendan!" Ste shouts.

He shoves Brendan hard out of his way and storms through the hospital – doesn't care which way he's going. He feels hot… BOILING… sweat polluting his forehead and neck and chest, so much that he feels dizzy with it, nausea creeping up his gut and throat.

The power of his fear is overwhelming – his fear of losing Brendan, of losing his life and watching it helplessly spiral all over again.

"Shit…" He gasps as the walls fade brightly in and out of focus around him.

He keeps walking as fast as he can… can barely see anything but bright spots in his eyes and, shit, he's going to be sick.

"Steven!"

"Go away!" He moans – but his voice is faint and distorted in his own ears, "I'm not talkin' to you!"

He leans on the wall for support and now he feels _freezing – _just like that, in a split second.

He moans and everything's bright – too bright – and then hands are clasping him and everything's back in full focus – SCREAMING at him with Brendan's bastard face close up against his own.

"Woah, woah – you're okay! You're okay!" Brendan insists.

But he's not okay. He needs a fix – NOW. There's no time to waste; his body is betraying his willpower and physically punishing him.

He tries to swallow – push down the overwhelming sickness that threatens to erupt… but he can't.

He retches, vomits. Trembles, sweats, freezes, vomits and reels… doesn't know how best to use his words; to beg for a hit or to beg Brendan to get the _hell _away from him.

"Alright," Brendan soothes, and he's rubbing his back as though Ste _hasn't _just screamed at him, "It's alright, Steven."

"Sir… is everything okay?" The distance voice of a nurse.

"It's fine – he hates blood, that's all." Brendan explains.

This seems to satisfy the nurse because Ste hears her high heels clip-clopping briskly away from him. The sound pounds through his skull loudly.

"Need…I… Get OFF!" Ste moans.

"I know you're angry at me but I can't leave ye like this, Steven."

"No, I'm goin' to Andy's." He decides.

He uses the wall to pull himself off the floor… wipes his mouth numbly with the back of his hand and heads towards the fire escape… anything for cold fresh air.

There's a stash at Andy's. That's what he needs. Can't see any other alternative in this moment because he _can't _live like this… with this sickness and pain. He can't live with Brendan and the constant fear he's going to lose him again. So he'll take it all back… slip the needle in… make it all go away once more.

"I said GO AWAY!" He screams when Brendan follows him.

"Okay listen, I know I messed up, Steven, but I had to make that guy know he can't treat ye the way he did, okay?! I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand!"

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO! I TOLD YOU!"

"I know and I'm _sorry _okay?!"

He doesn't _sound _sorry. Just irritated.

"Christ sake, Steven, I did it for US!"

"NO! Nothin' you EVER do is for us, Brendan! If you were thinkin' of me you'd of NEVER gone round there!"

"A guy like Andy isn't gonna tell the police; c'mon, the man lives in a drug-den!"  
"WE DON'T KNOW THAT!"

He doesn't think he's _ever _felt so angry – so terrified. This is why he should have _never _let Brendan back in his life; because now the prospect of removing him is too much to bear.

But Brendan acts like he doesn't care about that. He's brazen and careless and a FUCKING STUPID ARSEHOLE LIAR.

"Where are you going?" Brendan sighs… still following.

He doesn't know where he is or where he's going, all he knows is that he needs to keep walking – away from Brendan, towards the drugs.

"Steven, stop."

"I need to do up."

"Oh yeah. Yeah I can see how you came to THAT conclusion!" Brendan shouts after him, angry again now, "Just go get fucked up, just give up after everything - that's a really smart idea!"

"Why shouldn't I?!" Ste demands, "Why should I do ANYTHING for you when you won't do owt for me?!"

"I'm doing EVERYTHING for you!"

Ste grabs the car door, tries to yank it open but it won't budge.

"Steven, what the hell are ye doin'?!" Brendan cries, concerned now. And he grabs Ste, firmly this time, so that when Ste fights back it has no effect… and Brendan's dragging him away from the car…

"GET OFF!"

"If ye don't want the police gettin' involved you might not wanna steal someones fucking car!" Brendan yells, teeth grit with the struggle to keep Ste under control.

He doesn't care whose car it is.

If it's not Brendan's, it doesn't matter… he just needs to get AWAY… away NOW.

"Stop fightin' me, Steven!" Brendan pants.

Ste feels his back hit the brick wall of the hospital and he fights but he feels weak and limp and doesn't stand a chance as Brendan holds him firmly by the shoulders – restraining him.

He's losing power. Losing will. He can't maintain this level of vigour with his muscles screaming out in distress like they are.

He's in agony.

He gives up. He slumps like the puppet of Brendan's manoeuvre.

He feels tears prickle in the back of his eyes and nausea wallow in his belly and he can't cope with this anymore; he can't do it.

"It's okay." Brendan sighs.

His forehead rests against Ste's. Fresh and cold against the burning sweat.

He slowly lets go of Ste, but Ste doesn't have the energy to fight anymore.

"It's okay, Steven. This is the worst of it I promise and then it's all gonna be over, okay?"

Ste shakes his head vigorously. It won't _ever _be over, it never is.

"I swear, jus' a couple more days and then it'll get easier." Brendan insists.

Ste can't even bring himself to talk. He wants to shout and scream and make Brendan realise what he's doing to him…

But his voice is small and exhausted when he moans, "I hate you."

"I know." Brendan sighs. He flinches though, in his expression. Presses his fingers to his temple as if curing a major headache, and that headache is Ste.

"I hate this power you have over me." Ste sniffs weakly.

Because it's true.

Now more than ever, Brendan holds all of the power to either make or break Steven.

Trouble is, Brendan has only ever broken what he loves.

"I'm gonna make it better." Brendan whispers, "I promise."

"You can't. I can't do it Brendan; I _can't_." Tears roll freely down his cheeks now.

"Just a couple more days, and then I'm gonna spend the rest my life makin' you glad you gave it up." Brendan says, "I know I screwed up today, Steven, but that's not gonna happen again – I'm gonna be with you, okay? All the time if you want me to be."

"I can't do a couple more days."

"You can."

"I can't lose you again." The tears roll harder at the thought. The fear still consumes him… a rigid terror because he doesn't work without Brendan and he's _so _scared of that fact.

"You're not going to." Brendan wraps an arm around Ste's neck, drags him in to a strong hold so that Ste's tears wet Brendan's neck. "Hey – listen to me. You're not gonna lose me, okay? I'm not gonna let that happen again."

He so wants that to be true. _Needs _it to be.

He raises his arms and clings to the back of Brendan's leather coat – physically _clings _and thinks he'll never let go.

His body's drawn to Brendan in the exact same way it is to the needle – like he'll die without it. Trouble is he can't have both. And right now he's chosen Brendan… chosen to get in his car and go to Cheryl's and spend a night in hellish agony. Aching, sweating, crying, trembling, vomiting, yearning. Cursing, shouting, crying, blaming, shoving and blackmailing. But Brendan puts up with every bit of it – holds him and supports him throughout the night like he'll be with him all the time, just like he said.


	17. Chapter 17

**Had to do a withdrawal chapter, and this is it. The plot will progress a lot more from here though.**

**XOXOXOXOX**

That night was one of the hardest of Brendan's life. He'd been on the edge of surrender the whole way through; between Steven's begs and demands and cries he'd found himself playing with the idea of giving in… _So what if he injects? What's the worst that can happen when he's already come this far? Who am I to stop him? Who am I to torture him? Who am I to tell him what to do? I can't take this much longer._

"Just think of your kids, Steven." He'd chanted, over and over between the safety blankets of Cheryl's spare bedroom, "Just think of the kids for me. It's gonna get easier after tonight, I promise."

About halfway through the night they'd vacated the bedroom completely and both spent the rest of the hours sat on the bathroom floor, Steven with his cheek pushed miserably against the toilet seat – drained, exhausted and hurting, but mostly _scared. _

"I don't think it's meant to feel like this." He'd muttered fretfully; voice laced in pain and tiredness and fear. "I think somethin's wrong, I don't think I'm supposed to be like this, Bren…"

Brendan was naturally running out of things to say… hardly the best person to coax and comfort at the best of times. He was exhausted too; brain numbing and resolve breaking and starting to wonder where he could get some smack at this time of night.

At some point or other Steven had fallen into a restless sleep – his eyeballs dancing beneath his closed eyelids. Brendan had shuffled over the tiles of the bathroom towards him, leant against the bath and pulled Steven into his arms, held him close. He wanted to tell Steven he was hating this _just _as much, because he WAS hating it… it was the worst thing he'd ever witnessed. But he couldn't possibly be feeling what Steven was feeling. Steven was feeling as though he was going to die, and all for Brendan fucking Brady and the sake of their fucked up relationship.

"He needs proper help." Cheryl says the next morning, "This can't go on Brendan – look at the bags under your eyes!"

"Just a few more days and then it will get easier." Brendan says, like a robot on repeat, clinging to his coffee which does next to nothing to help matters.

"There's clinics he can go to – it doesn't have to be rehab. They can give him something."

"No, Chez…" Brendan moans, massaging his head, "They'll give him meth and then he'll get addicted to _that _like they all do. It's no better; it just means he's payin' the government not the dealers."

"You're being a cynic and now is really _not _the time."

"He can't be addicted to _anything._" Brendan says. "He can give it up, all of it. He can do it, Chez, he _will _do it – he's strong."

Cheryl bites her lip nervously, eyes scanning Brendan's worn out face.

"I don't think he's as strong as you think he is." She says reluctantly. "And _you_ need some sleep."

"That's the least of my problems right now." Brendan breathes.

There's so much he needs to do. He needs to go to the fucking STI clinic, but Steven's hardly in any state now to come with him. He needs to go hunting for a new flat, because God knows Cheryl doesn't want Steven like this in her house with her child any longer than need be. He needs to go get a job… invest in a business or something… because he's been out of prison for too fucking long now for his life to still revolve around purely relationship dramas.

But he can't do any of those things… can't even leave Steven's side for a minute because he promised he wouldn't. And that promise seemed pretty crucial to him.

He goes back into the spare bedroom now, places a coffee at Steven's side and puts a hand to the lads sweaty forehead. Steven flinches away, irritable.

"Y'hot." He mumbles. "Don't ya get it- I don't feel well."

"I get it. Drink your coffee."

"I don't want it."

"Fine."

Brendan takes the coffee, gulps it back and one, lets it scorch his throat and doesn't care. At least it's pain, and that's only a fraction of what Steven's feeling. All Steven does is glare at him through bloodshot sunken eyes. He needs to glare because he needs to take some of this out on Brendan; give some of the load to Brendan no matter how insignificant. Brendan will take it. He deserves this and more.

"You gotta eat something." He grunts

To which Steven just shakes his head, falls back against the bed, chest rising and falling in his attempts to get a grip and keep the nausea at bay.

"Don't make me force you." Brendan says. His voice is lazy with tiredness but the threat is loud and clear; he will do it if he has to.

"Why don't you jus' go sort out the new flat?"

Brendan scoffs, "Yeah right."

"What, I'm hardly gonna move, am I?!"

"No?" Brendan asks.

He climbs onto the bed, places his palms either side of Steven's head and starts to lower down above him, lips ghosting Steven's nose and then ear.

"You really think I'm that stupid, Steven?"

This can't be doing anything for Steven's temperature but even now he doesn't push Brendan away… he becomes still and complacent and entranced like he always does – his eyes tracing Brendan's every move.

He blinks at the sound of clinking keys.

Brendan lifts the keys to Andy's flat – aptly tucked inside the tissue box as if Brendan wouldn't notice – and dangles them above Steven's eyes.

"This is why people like you get shut in rooms with padlocks and chains." Brendan breathes.

Steven's glazed eyes sink to a frown.

"_People like me_?!"

"Delinquents."

Brendan pushes his lips lightly to Steven's nose. His skin is hot and sweaty.

"If I go out, I'm gonna have to lock the bedroom door." Brendan says. He's serious now.

It sounds extreme, but it's the only way. Brendan knows about this stuff; has been visited far too many times in the past by those who are addicted and gasping for a hit, who will stoop to any level, abandon all reason and dignity.

Steven has willpower – more than Brendan's ever witnessed – but it's not enough. He's fighting a force far stronger, and he'll lose without a firm instruction.

"Yeah," Steven says bitterly.

He lights up a cigarette and blows smoke into Brendan's face as if naïve enough to think that will make him waver.

"That's what you've always wanted, innit? For me to be your prisoner."

"You're right. This is what I've always wanted. But lets not pretend we didn't BOTH have fun on the bathroom floor last night."

"You're not lockin' me in like your fuckin' dog, Brendan."

"Fine. I understand. Then I'm not goin' anywhere."

"Fine."

"Fine. And you better stop tryin' to push me away cos I already told you I ain't goin' nowhere."

"Till it suits _you_."

"Till _never; _I'm marryin' ye, ain't I?!"

Steven falls silent, chugs on his cigarette like he thinks it's his last, and maybe he does. His bitter irritation is only cover up for his fear, and Brendan knows it.

"Look," He breathes, softer this time. "Once upon a time you told me that you weren't gonna give up on me. And I'm just sayin'… it works both ways."

Steven continues to say nothing.

That's okay. Brendan can take his silence better than he can take his pleads and tears of last night.

"I'm gonna get you somethin' to eat." He says, in a voice that leaves no room for debate.

It only takes five minutes for him to whip up some semi-burned toast and a bag of crisps each… but by the time he comes back, Steven's different again. He clings to Brendan's tshirt and pulls him close this time, and pushes his face into Brendan's chest, nose nuzzling pitifully there.

Brendan doesn't bother with the words of comfort this time – they're useless.

He kisses the top of Steven's head and relaxes his hand over the back of his neck - still burning hot – and just stays there letting the food go cold until Steven's able to pull away.

And so the routine continues for the next four days.

Like a hot-blooded, fog-filled, pressure-kettled prison, he and Steven move back and forth from bedroom and bathroom of Cheryl's home. Steven fluctuates back and forth from seeking comfort and intimacy... to shouting and pushing and rejecting. Brendan bears scratch-marks up his arms where he wrestles him away from the front door and keys, and Steven bears bruises where Brendan has to restrain him. Brendan has a split lip; caught in an episode of hallucination, and later kissed to quick heal.

The bedroom bin is filled with Anti-Nausea remedies which Steven has cursed and deemed useless. Tissues where he's cried and sweat. Food that he's refused.

There's a mug on the bedside table that's become an overflown ash-tray and a mixing bowl that's become a sick bucket.

Cheryl stays clear, and keeps Nate and Connor even further.

She chips in whenever Brendan uses the kitchen to tell him she's been 'reading online' for advice.

_Go for a run, _she says.

"Chez, Steven's not run a metre in his life; he's not about to start _now_."

_Get a therapist, _she says.

"I'm not doing that to him. 's out of the question."

_Get him to write down all the positive things he can think of_, _I hear that really helps._

"He hates writing."

Despite his protests, Brendan does whatever it takes. He suggests the run to Steven, and gets his head snapped off. He suggests writing things down and gets sniggered at; some of Stevens' cheek comes back, and that makes it worth the proposition at the very least.

He never suggests the therapy. Those people do more harm than good.

On the fifth day, they manage to leave the house.

"I'm not gettin' out the car." Steven says. His back and legs and arms ache, his stomach canes, and the very act of getting him outside seemed at the time like a form of _torture. _

But they're on their way now, and Brendan is nothing but determined to get him further.

"You're coming to have a look at this flat I found." He says.

"Jus' get whatever flat you want."

"I've already got it." Brendan says bluntly, because he hadn't thought twice about getting it when it had come up on the online search; there was nothing to think about – it's perfect. "I just want you to see it."

"I should be well pissed off that you bought that without me."

"I know, but you just said I could, so now you can't be." Brendan smirks.

"What if I don't like it?"

"You will."

"Where is it?"

"You'll see."

Steven frowns but sinks back into the car seat; too exhausted to argue. He's barely slept more than a couple of hours in _days, _and it shows. He holds his stomach now, fingers clenching repeatedly around the fabric of his tshirt as he tries to deal with the relentless pain. But he says nothing. He deals with it in silence, with a strength that Brendan has nothing but respect for.

The silence is only broken by Steven retorting, "Big fan these days, are ya?!"

Brendan blinks from his daydream, "Huh?"

"Since when did you learn all the words, eh?!"

Brendan has no idea what he's talking about.

Until Steven turns up the radio. And that God forsaken Cheryl Cole who'd soundtracked two too many fucking-sessions back in the day is playing.

"You were singin' along." Steven says. He's smirking. His eyes are gleaming. He looks _happy_, however impossible that may seem, and the sight is momentarily breathtaking.

Till Brendan remembers to defend himself and snaps, "Quit makin' stuff up."

"No don't mind me, carry on."

"I've never even _heard_ this song."

Apart from when Steven got drunk three years ago and insisted on strip-teasing to it. Apart from when one of the staff played it in prison during cooking classes, and Brendan smashed his own head against the corner of the shelf unit just to get out of there.

That had been one of the worst days.

Steven doesn't retort back this time; his happiness is short-lived and quickly stifled by the recurrence of pain. He sniffs, his eyes glaze over to mask his turmoil and his head sinks back into the headrest.

Brendan misses the smile already.

He keeps his eyes on the road for a minute or two, wondering how he can get it back…

And starts to sing… forceful and definite… _"How'd you think I feel when you call my name, you got me confused by the way I changed. How'd you think I feel when you call my name…"_

Steven turns to him, and his face is lit up again.

Brendan glances at him only briefly – too embarrassed to hold eye contact – but he swears he catches a _beam _this time.

And he hears a laugh. The sweet, sweet sound of it. The goofy uninhibited hoot of amusement that is so uniquely Steven's.

And he realises probably for the first time since he walked out of prison and back into this mess… that happiness _is _a plausible goal for them both.

XOXOXOXOX

The flat is nothing special. It's certainly not as suave and modern and classy as Brendan's place that got burnt down. The third bedroom is a bit of a box… not ideal for Lucas, but he'll have to make do. The kitchen is decent sized for sure, but has an ugly hatch leading into the dining room that reminds Brendan of some tacky McDonalds drive-through. The couple that lived here previous had disastrous taste in floral décor.

But none of that matters. This place is perfect for the two of them.

Beneath it is a restaurant – also for sale. It's a little dated right now, but with some work it can be luxurious… has a perfect space for a bar and sofa area at the front, and a kitchen at the back. The perfect way for them both to rebuild their lives and ambitions from scratch, to paint on their masks of normality and maybe even convince themselves that that's what they are – normal.

Steven's not so sure.

"I 'aven't even cooked for years, Bren…"

"So? You'll have plenty of time to practice."

"Yeah but if it goes wrong that's loadsa money down the drain, innit, and…"

"Well then we'll make you a stripper. Get the money back in no time."

For a millisecond it looks like Steven believes him… thinks he's serious.

Then he cracks a smile, small and tired, but a smile of understanding. His head falls against Brendan's shoulder, just where he likes it, and Brendan kisses the top of his head.

"It's somethin' else to work towards, Steven."

"Yeah." Steven says thoughtfully, and then… "Can you imagine that? Us runnin' a place together?"

"Hm."

"Bet we'll argue loads though – we're gonna be on top of each other all the time."

"I _like_ being on top of you."

Steven laughs again. Brendan could easily get used to that reoccurrence.

And he could easily get used to them being 'on top of each other' all the time too. It's been five days now, kettled together in the bedroom and bathroom, never leaving for space or air or private time. After everything that's happened, Brendan doesn't see a time that he'll leave Steven's side or vice versa for the foreseeable future.

Is this what they are now? One of those godforsaken couples that proudly state that they only ever separate to take a shit? Will they continue their lives as the type that tag along to push the trolley down a supermarket together? And what after that? Matching outfits and mutual gay friends and a couple of dogs to match their personalities?!

_If we must_, Brendan finds himself thinking.

It's a case of 'anything goes' now.

A future without Steven being permanently there is unthinkable. Even now, in Steven's state, he is the light in Brendan's dark hollow life. He is the memory that kept Brendan alive in prison. He is the voice that calms Brendan with its warmth and familiarity. Steven makes Brendan grounded… makes him feel loved and needed in a way he never ever has before. He's somebody for Brendan to protect, bring reason to his existence.

And he's somebody to protect Brendan too. Brendan would trust him explicitly to – learnt that he could do so a long time ago, and his faith hasn't wavered since.

"It's mint." Steven whispers into Brendan's chest. "I love it. Thank you."

"Thank _you._" Brendan mumbles, "Thank you, Steven."

He hasn't had the chance to tell him yet, but Steven has saved him too since leaving the jail-gates. He's done it whilst angry, whilst high, whilst overdosed and whilst withdrawing. He's done it without even knowing; purely with his presence and the unyielding humanising effect it has on Brendan.

Brendan pulls him into his arms now; wraps himself around the alarmingly skinny frame and presses his forehead to Steven's hot sweaty one … and realises he's never been more in love with him.

XOXOXOXOXOX

The mistake happens after they leave.

Brendan has to drop the keys back to Andy's. If he doesn't, Andy will only come looking for them and that's the last thing they need.

But it triggers something in Steven almost immediately.

He goes ghost white as they pull up outside the block of council flats, and his fists clench determinedly around themselves and he keeps his eyes on the dashboard and takes deep breathes. But the damage is already done. Brendan can already tell that those smiles and laughs won't be returning tonight. This is the ultimate test, and Steven's not ready for it.

The end to all of his pain and misery is just the other side of the door.

"I'll be one minute, okay?" Brendan says, "One minute."

He locks the car door, but if Steven notices he doesn't show it; his eyes still fixated with startling resolve on the dashboard.

It takes all of thirty seconds before Brendan's shoved the keys through the letterbox and is back in the drivers seat but now tears are drizzling miserably from Steven's eyes, and his body is so folded in on itself that Brendan has _no _hope right now of making any of it better.

They drive back to Cheryl's in silence, a heavy weight in the pit of Brendan's stomach like he's somehow the villain in all this; has ripped Steven away from his shitty pitiful life with Andy to give him one that's somehow _worse._

Steven flops exhaustedly into bed when they get back, becoming nothing but a lump under the covers – detached and unobtainable.

"Steven…"

"This isn't gonna work." His voice is small and wretched and vulnerable.

"Okay, we shouldn't have gone there. But you've just had a set-ba…"

"No, don't say it!" Steven snaps, voice ringing fiercely from beneath the duvet, "This _isn't_ gonna work, it's been _five _days and I can't think about _anythin' _else, Brendan, it's _not _going away."

"Well what did ye think was gonna happen?! This isn't a craving, Steven, it's an _addiction, _okay?! It's SHIT but no one ever said it was gonna be easy!"

"YOU DID! You said it would get BETTER!"

"And it WILL, it IS, ye just need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!"

He shouldn't be shouting, but his patience is wafer-thin; smothered under days of sleepless fatigue.

"CALM DOWN?!" Steven yells, and reappears from beneath the duvet with red bloodshot eyes. "I WANNA FUCKING _DIE_ HALF THE TIME! You don't know a SINGLE THING about what this feels like, Brendan, you haven't got a FUCKING CLUE! And it's NOT gonna end!"

Brendan sighs, shattered, "I'm sick of having this same god damn conversation." He seethes intolerantly.

"_YOU'RE_ SICK?!" Steven cries, incredulous. "FUCK YOU!"

He throws the mug on the bedside table and it shatters against the door, sending water, ash and cigarette butts flying everywhere.

Then he tears at his hair like he wants to rip his whole scalp off. And his whole body is wrecked and shaking with this violent trauma of electricity… like he's wild with it, in a way Brendan's never seen him.

"YOU SAID IT WAS GONNA GET EASIER!" He cries, all raging tears and torn-up voice.

"Okay, well it WON'T! It WON'T. Is that what you want me to say?!"

"Then LET ME GO!" Steven cries, and Brendan's fatigue makes him slow so when Steven's fist flies, it catches him right in the side of the eye. Fucking hurts too. But Steven's not finished; he's throwing punches like Brendan is the very first needle that started it all. Throwing punches at him like Brendan's the pain in his stomach and the nightmare in his head.

Brendan grabs his wrists, but Steven's surprisingly strong – his hatred for this situation outweighing his skinniness and exhaustion. It becomes something of a struggle. And they're here again… Brendan restraining a frightened, fighting, frantic body. The efforts bring them somehow from the bed to the floor, and Steven crying through gritted teeth the whole time, "Let me go. Just let me go."

"I'm never gonna do that, Steven." Brendan pants.

This is what it's been between them… right from the very beginning. _Let me go. _They've always pushed – tested boundaries – trialled one anothers toxic commitment to the other. A commitment that can become overpowering in that they're so powerless to resist it. A commitment that now is dragging both of them to sleepless, painful torture.

"Just let me go…" Steven sobs, scratching feebly at Brendan's hands that hold him to the floor.

"I'm not gonna give up on you." Brendan breathes, private and intense and _meaningful _to both of them; heavy in the air between his lips and Steven's ear, "I'm not."

"I can't take anymore." Steven whimpers, so excruciatingly aggrieved.

"I wanna help Steven, but I can't, okay, there's nothing I can do; you just have to keep going."

"I want the wedding and the restaurant and the kids…." Steven mumbles in cracked distressed tones. There's a 'but' coming, but Brendan doesn't let him get there…

"You're gonna have all that, I promise you."

"I wanna _sleep._" He cries.

"Then sleep." Brendan uses his free hand to pull the hair away that dangles over Steven's forehead. He kisses there, once, twice, three times… however many times it take, "Go to sleep."

The next thing Brendan's conscious of is the bedroom door creaking open, and Cheryl is standing there with wide, concerned eyes.

It's dark now… and Steven is still in his arms against the floor.

Resting.

Resting finally.

"Everything's fine, Chez." Brendan whispers, groggy from his own slumber.

Cheryl's eyes scan the trashed bedroom.

"Everything doesn't _look _fine."

"Everything's fine." Brendan repeats.

Because whilst what he and Steven have will never look alright to those outside their world… this is fine for them. They can lie here in the dark amongst the warzone they've created, but while Steven can laugh and Steven can sleep… there is progress. And while they can be in each others arms, there is hope.


	18. Chapter 18

**I've been so busy lately hence why it's been a whole month since updating… sorry! Hopefully people are still reading! **

**XOXOXOXOX**

_His body is floating. Shivering. Trembling. And then there's a needle and its just inches away, blocked only by a naked body lying on its stomach across the floor… cold flesh. And he knows he shouldn't want the needle, but he does. He's throbbing for it. He takes a step towards it and his throat's going dry like dehydration, hydrated only by the piercing of the spike in his skin. _

_But the body in front of him stirs._

_He jumps backwards. The naked body is moving. Twitching. _

_Bleeding._

_It shudders… and the skin is so ghostly white and it doesn't STOP shuddering… just convulsing traumatically on the floor._

"_Stop it." Ste gasps. _

_The body doesn't stop juddering and fitting. It's moving closer with the movements, and there are needle pricks stabbed all into its back, and it's getting closer and closer to Ste's bare feet and when Ste steps back, he hits a wall._

"_St… stop it…" He chokes._

_The body turns over. Lolls, un-humanlike, onto its back. _

_And then the piecing eyes of Simon Walker stare at Ste with cold, dead, ruthless, relentless mania. He's grinning at Ste but he's undoubtedly in pain. His body won't stop twitching, and somehow Ste knows that it's poison in his body… from the needle-marks… and it's slowly killing him._

"_Stop it…" He breathes, but can hardly find his voice._

_Walker's blood turns purple… veins popping. His chest rises and falls with a rasped heavy breathing. He's seconds from death… but his cock stirs; a proud, fucked-up erection._

"_STOP IT!"_

_BANG!_

_Walker's head explodes. Blood spurts, splashes, gushes. Ste's drenched in it. It's everywhere. It's poison. It's the needle-poison and now it's all over his skin and he panics… can't breathe. His skin is burning off with it. And Walker's still staring… staring even though his head's blown off… still smiling… still hard._

"STEVEN!"

"Stop it! N…no! Stop it!"

"Hey! Hey! Steven!"

And he's back in the room. Awake. Tangled in the sheets of the double-bed he's shared with Brendan for eight days now. Where he's actually managed to _sleep _for three days now… if you can count this hell as sleeping.

Ste doesn't say anything; doesn't need to. He's woken similarly already tonight, and the night previous.

He just closes his eyes again, pushes his nose back into the warm safety nest of Brendan's neck and drifts off for the same thing to happen all over again.

XOXOXOXOX

It's been nine days now.

Nine days cold turkey.

Nine days Ste that is starting, slowly, to feel proud of. Despite the torture, the agony, the _continued _fear of caving… he can't believe he sits here now, nine days in, still alive and still going.

'Here' meaning the sexual health clinic.

Because that's the other thing… these last couple of days Ste's even found time in between agony to feel _horny. _He's woken with Brendan's hard cock pressed against the back of his legs, or watched as Brendan's showered – constantly kettled in the same room as him. He doesn't know if he'll have the energy for sex, but he knows he wants to _try… _knows he's _dying _to feel Brendan inside him again, hot and powerful and intimate and unyieldingly connected.

But to do that they have to go through _this._

Sat in the waiting room side by side, sharing the waiting room with an audience of pubescent teenage lads.

Brendan's slouched down in the chair, legs spread impossibly wide to assert his dominance. Everything about his stature is to make up for the fact he's sat in the sex clinic with what is obviously his boyfriend. His druggie boyfriend, for that matter.

Ste's doing everything in his power to act invisible. He sits with his arms folded around his stomach, closed in on himself. Hopefully, if he's invisible, he won't be dragged in there. He won't have to confront the judgemental frown of the man who asks him 'how many sexual partners have you had?' and then declares the worst – that his lifestyle will be the death of him, and the end of him and Brendan.

"I'm goin' for a fag." Ste mutters.

But of course Brendan accompanies him; knows him too well, and before he knows it there's a woman coming out and calling, "Number fifteen!" and that's Ste… it's his turn.

Brendan gives his shoulder a sharp squeeze as if to say '_it's alright' _but Ste knows it's not just as soon as he's sat in the room and the man asks…

"When was the last time you engaged in sexual intercourse?"

"I dunno…" Ste mumbles, uncomfortable. "Like… two weeks ago or summat."

"You don't remember?"

"I've been ill lately, haven't I? Makes things a bit fuzzy."

The mans eyes are tracing over him. He's got him sussed, immediately. Ste grips the inside of his arms instinctively; already covered with the material of his jumper but somehow he feels that's not enough.

"And how many sexual partners have you had in the last three months?"

"Urmm… I don't… I dunno." Ste says, face burning red.

"Well… roughly… more than five, would you say? Ten? Twenty?"

"I dunno. Summat like that."

The man frowns at his lack of cooperation. The labels are probably running through his head already… _junkie, slut, waster._

"And was this vaginal, anal or oral?"

"Look, is this really important?!"

"The information is entirely confidential, I assure you."

"Look, I'm gay right? And I'm probably infected, kay, so why don't you just tell me how bad it is?!"

"What gives you reason to think that?"

"Cos." Ste snaps, "Work it out yourself; looks like you already have."

"Right then." The man says, keeping his voice at a well-reasoned level, "I suggest we go for the full sexual heath screen then."

XOXOXOXOX

"Once this is over I'm gonna give ye the best fuck of your life."

It's supposed to be reassuring, and in a very Brendan-like way, it is. Even though he _does_ say it with a mouthful of McDonalds cheeseburger and fries, crumbs flying everywhere.

Ste half-heartedly chews on a single chip, guilted into doing so because Brendan has bought him the whole works. But he's not hungry; now the dull ache of his stomach that pines for drugs is joined by the tug of worry and fear. How could he have let this happen? How did things get these bad? How was he so stupid as to sleep with Brendan unprotected and put him at risk too?!

"You should 'ave seen the way he looked at me." He mumbles, "Like I was disgusting."

"He deals with the same thing every day of every year." Brendan says dryly, "Don't be so dramatic."

"Oh right, so you're allowed to be all weird about therapists but I'm not allowed this?!"

"I'm not weird about therapists."

"Yes you are!" Ste argues, chucking his chip into the nearby pond.

"I'm not – I saw tons of 'em in prison!"

"What, tons cos you smacked them about, scared 'em off?"

It's a low blow, but it's probably true, Ste thinks bitterly.

And underneath the bitterness is a gnawing pang of guilt that's been creeping about inside him since Brendan walked back into his life. Amongst his own personal dramas, Ste's not even _asked_ Brendan about prison. He was haunted by it at the time; afraid of what Brendan was going through… whether he was hurting or numbing it out.

Brendan doesn't answer him about the therapist, and Ste knows he's blown his chance to talk about it now. Fucking selfish. Too wrapped up in his own shit to care about Brendan's.

"Sorry." He mumbles… and even that still comes out sulky and petulant.

"Stop saying that. Why'd you keep sayin' that to me?"

"Cos I'm a pain in the arse." He mutters ashamedly.

_Pain in the arse_ is an understatement. Brendan could be sat here with a million diseases thanks to him. Jesus, he's a liability and then some.

"I was a pain in the arse to you for fuckin' years." Brendan says seriously. "You're an amateur, kid."

He sucks his milkshake casually, filling the reflective silence with a loud SLLUUURP.

Then hands it out to Ste, relaxed as anything, as if he _hasn't_ just been the most forgiving, understanding, amazing man in the whole entire world.

Ste pushes the milkshake aside and kisses Brendan firmly, strongly, on the lips.

"I love you." He whispers sincerely.

"Mm, love you too."

"No but I _really _love you." Ste says, _willing _him to understand just how much even though he never could, "Just like… like so much."

Brendan is quiet for a moment, never breaking eye contact – pausing for thought.

Then he grunts, "Spose you may as well have this then."… digs into his inner blazer pocket and produces a ring, and hands it out again with that same casualness. Like he's so sure.

"S'a replacement, for the one that burnt." He explains unnecessarily.

"You didn't have to do that." But Ste's eyes shine… glimmer with tearful disbelief. Because it's one thing _convincing_ himself that one day he'll marry the man of his ruin and making… but quite another to really be handed the ring… the physical promise that things will be okay for them… one day.

"Ye gonna put it on, or what?"

"Yeah." He breathes… and lets Brendan slide it on his finger. It's a tiny bit too big, but that doesn't matter. Fuck, it's perfect. It's the most fucking perfect thing anyone has ever given him, and it doesn't make sense now amongst everything that's happening that _this _could be here too.

"Is it alright?" Brendan asks – an underscore of vulnerability in his voice.

"Mm." Ste croaks, because he can hardly muster the breath for anything more substantial. He feels overwhelmed by it. "Yeah. Ta."

"Good."

And that's it. So easy sounding when spoken out-loud… but an uproar of chaos and dysfunction was surely short-circuiting as Brendan pushed the thing onto his finger. It can't be this simple. Nothing in Ste's life is ever this simple, and certainly not _them._

XOXOXOXOXOX

When they get into the car half an hour later, Brendan doesn't start the engine. He stares out the front window in silence for a minute… going nowhere.

"You were right… by the way." He says eventually.

"Bout what?"

"The therapists." Brendan says, "I scared 'em away. Punched one of them in the face, actually, like ye said."

He turns to Ste, serious and apologetic.

"I fucked it."

"That's okay."

"It's not. I wanted to…" Brendan sighs, runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "I wanted to get better… be better… but I couldn't do it; I just… fucked up."

"That's okay." Ste repeats, "You're _my_ fuck up, aint' ya?"

He undoes his seatbelt, kisses Brendan against the side of his face, drawing a smirk from his other half.

"You're slobberin' all over me today, ain't ye?" Brendan teases.

Makes a nice change from the sick and tears of late, in any case.

"Mm-hm." Ste smiles. "And look –"

He holds up his chip packet. Empty.

"I finished 'em."

That really makes Brendan smile, then. To him, if a man can't finish his food then that's a sure sign he's sick as a dog. For Ste to have finished the packet is a sure sign that he's on his way to good health – surer than the fact he's out of the house and nine days needle-free.

Brendan takes his neck and pulls him in for another kiss – heavy and affirming this time; his lips smacked against Ste's and then growing more fervent; tongues find each other. They explore each others flavour like it's the first time. It feels like it _is, _almost. Ste savours the taste of Brendan in his mouth, the prickle of his facial hair on his face, the grind of his lips – so compelling in their combination of soft skin and tough pressure. He feels Brendan's breath on him and it feels so familiar, so safe, but so exciting and new at the same time.

Jesus, these years of numbness and weeks of bed-ridden pain have practically made a virgin of him again.

And he just wants _more _of it. Like drugs – he's climbing into Brendan's lap; pressed between the steering wheel and Brendan's chest and licking, sucking, kissing, practically _consuming _one another. Brendan grits the skin of Ste's neck in his teeth and leaves his rough able marks there. Strokes his hair, loving and gentle and contrasting with the ferocity of his tongue… but then clenches his fist around it, pulls Ste's head back so he has more room to make a real mess of his neck.

Ste's chest rises and falls and he pants heavily, so amazed and turned-on and utterly overwhelmed as Brendan's lips explore his skin, his collarbone. It feels too good to be real. He feels… he feels _alive,_ for fuck sake.

"Get off…" Brendan suddenly grows; low and sexual and commanding as fuck. "We're goin' home."

Ste doesn't argue – knows never to argue with _that _voice, because it's always been followed by good things in the past.

He climbs off Brendan's lap and he's sporting the biggest hard-on he thinks he's had in his whole life, and Brendan starts the engine before he can even get his seat-belt back on.

It's taking too long. Brendan seems to be taking a random route home – not the route they came – and Ste doesn't know _why _he'd experiment with his journey _now _of all times, but all he knows is he can't take it any longer. He reaches into his trousers and touches himself, strokes himself repeatedly, eyes locked on Brendan… watching every blink and waver and nervous swipe of tongue against lip.

"Ye better stop that." Brendan says warningly, staring determinedly at the road. He's about 50 miles over the speed limit. "You wanna get back in one piece."

Ste's distracting him.

Brendan's eyes keep darting back and forth, for increasingly longer and frustrated periods.

"Jus' get us home." Ste sighs, impatient.

"You know I can't fuck you, don't ye Steven?"

Supposedly. But when has Brendan ever obeyed the rules? This might not be the conventional lust-filled journey home from a sex clinic, but it is what it is and Ste not only wants Brendan but _craves _him.

They don't pull up outside Cheryl's flat.

They pull up outside the _new _flat. _Their _flat. With _their _restaurant underneath it. And the 'SOLD' sign hanging proudly outside. And Brendan tugs the keys from his pocket and opens the door to the empty, gutted downstairs – theirs for the recreation.

"When did they move out?" Ste pants, already finding himself pushed back against the wall, Brendan's mouth back on his.

"Few days ago." Brendan breathes, hands pushing themselves underneath Ste's tracksuit bottoms, clenched around his arse, groin to groin and heat and pressure and dominance. "Ye wanna christen it?"

Ste swallows, nods certainly.

Before he knows it he's got his stomach pressed against the counter, legs spread wide, Brendan wrapping up and his dick sliding inside him. Brendan moves slowly at first so that Ste can feel every inch of him, feel that firm heat inside him, sinking deeper, big and hard and painful at first, but then scorching with pleasure… like a needle, but better.

Brendan gets so deep, so far inside that Ste doesn't even feel a part of his own body anymore – feels a part of two. He feels Brendan's chest pushed firmly against his back, Brendan's arms folded tightly around his chest and stomach, Brendan's cock doing unimaginable things to him – awakening every nerve he has in his body as Brendan pounds into him heavily, and then slows into deep, long, sensual thrusts.

He doesn't want it ever to stop.

He feels so impossibly good, so impossibly safe and complete like this. He turns and they kiss, and his lips are red raw with it but that's _good… _he can really _feel _everything. He's not numb anymore. He's all here, just him and Brendan and the grinding of their bodies.

When Brendan comes inside of him, Ste reaches back and puts his hands to Brendan's arse – making him stay and not pull out. He doesn't have the breath to demand it, but Brendan understands; presses kisses to the back of Ste's neck for the longest time, keeping him filled and them together for as much time as possible.

When they go upstairs, the flat is empty – no furniture.

"Ye wanna go back to Chez's?" Brendan asks.

"No, m'tired."

He's exhausted, actually. After the comedown from sex his body has chosen to remind him that that was _too _strenuous an activity. He slumps onto the floor, muscles sinking and relaxing in shuddering relief.

"Come be my pillow."

Brendan sighs; grunts like an old man, which amuses Ste somewhat as he sinks down onto the floor. Brendan sits with his back against the wall, allowing Ste's head to fall into his lap where his eyes instantly start to melt into sleep.

"You not sleepin'?" Ste asks.

"Mm." Non-committal.

"Hm?"

"Not tired."

Ste doesn't even know how that's possible after what they've just done, but before he can even muster the energy to retort, he drifts off to sleep.

_At first there's Brendan. Ste's got his head against his chest, breathing in the scent of his aftershave and that other indefinable scent that is so uniquely his. But Brendan's nervous – there's no real way that Ste has of knowing that... he just does._

"_S'the matter?" He mumbles groggily. _

_Brendan doesn't reply. There's just silence… Ste wants to crane his head to look at him but for some reason he can't move; his neck's stiff, and all he can absorb is the material of Brendan's shirt over his chest, which now feels suffocating._

"_Brendan? What's the matter?" He says, more urgently._

_He can feel Brendan's heart going a mile a minute._

_It's scaring him._

"_What's the MATTER?!"_

_He pulls back – finally. Released from the strangle hold._

_But he immediately wishes he wasn't._

_Now he can see Brendan, he can see that he's trembling. His shirt sleeve is pulled up around his biceps. There's a belt around his arm. He's jabbing a needle into himself. It pricks into him – drawing blood, making bruises. _

"_Won't fucking work." He says. His voice sounds rasped and distorted and agonised. _

"_Stop it." Ste gasps._

"_You try."_

"_N…no…"_

"_IT WON'T WORK!" Brendan shouts. His voice echoes and then breaks into a sob. He's in pain. He's convulsing. Blood POURS from his arm._

_Ste pulls the needle away from him and is overcome by it… the need for it… the desperation to inject._

_He throws it… but it won't leave his hand. It's stuck. Plastered to him._

_He struggles, trying to pull it off himself but Brendan's mumbling in his ear; a voice ghosted by loss and misery, "Ye need to try it Steven. Try it for me – tell me why it won't work. Just do it once – it's not gonna hurt."_

"_I can't."_

"_Ye don't do anything to help me – I just need ye to… to do this one thing."_

"_M'sorry, I do try."_

"_You jus'… jus' make things worse."_

_The needle's burning him. He winces, tries to bat it off his skin but it won't LEAVE… it's burning INTO him, corrupting under the flesh and building a mould in his palm. The ring around his wedding finger is hot… burning… turning to ash._

"_Steven."_

"_Urrrr, I can't get it OFF!" He cries, fighting the needle._

"_Steven…" Blood dribbles from between Brendan's lips. The bruise on his arm from the needle spreads and comes up his neck, and Ste knows what's going to happen next… can FEEL death and destruction and trauma just seconds away._

"_I'm… I can't… WAIT!" The needle is prickling into his fingers, tying them, but he NEEDS his fingers – needs to free Brendan from death._

"_STEVEN!"_

_BANG._

_A gunshot. An explosion. Blood. Blood everywhere. Brendan gone. Ste unable to move; his hands held in fists._

"STEVEN!"

He wakes with a start, sweat covering him, heart hammering frantically.

Brendan's got Ste's hands, holding them high in the air, fending them off from where they scratched and hit.

"S'alright." He breathes, "S'alright it was just a dream…"

Ste allows the room to sink back into focus… blinks as he addresses Brendan's concerned eyes above him… no blood, no bruises, no gunshot… just Brendan. His Brendan. His fiancé, Brendan. Still here. Not sick of him yet.

Ste reaches his hand up in silence… traces his fingers down the side of Brendan's face.

And realises why Brendan didn't sleep. Because he was expecting this. Wanted to be awake to make it stop.

Ste winces in shame. God, he _is _a liability.

"You alright?" Brendan asks.

"Yeah."

"Ye sure?"

"_Yes._" He finds himself snapping. He's frustrated with himself; can't _believe _he still can't get over all this, despite being given this whole chance at a fresh start that most don't have. "I'm _fine, _Brendan."

"Yeah, cos you looked real fine a minute ago." Brendan snaps back.

"I _am._ You don't… you don't have to be with me _all _the time; I don't need a babysitter, right?!"

"You telling me to get out of my own house now?!"

"No! I'm jus' sayin'. I'm…"

He can't even say he's sorry, because Brendan doesn't like that.

"I _am _gettin' better. I know it don't look like it to you, right, but I am."

"I know you are." Brendan says, softer this time.

Ste sniffs, wipes his sweaty palms against his tracksuit and admits weakly, "I jus' keep dreamin' bout it."

"That's okay." Brendan says. "You're _my _fuck-up."

"Oy. I didn't say I was a fuck up, did I?!"

"I was offended earlier too," Brendan muses, smirking, "I wasn't sure I should say anything, cos y'know, you're a bit unhinged right now; I get it."

Ste laughs – punches Brendan lightly in the chest.

"Fine. We're both fuck-ups then." He settles.

"That's … cute." Brendan says dryly.

But Ste's serious… about wanting to stand on his own two feet.

Half of him is terrified every time Brendan walks out of the room. Terrified he'll crumble on his own. Terrified Brendan will get taken away from him again.

The other half of him is determined to resume normality, and normality is _not _living in one anothers pockets like this; escalating what's already a co-dependent setup. He wants to prove to Amy, the kids, Brendan and himself that he's clean, and not just because he's being body-guarded.

So the next day he _insists _that Brendan go and get the furniture, and he waits on his own in the flat.

He gazes out of the window at the group of teenage delinquents swigging larger and swearing loudly. He attempts a few press-ups but gets bored and exhausted after four. He takes pictures of himself pulling stupid faces and sends them to Brendan's phone. He texts Amy _'love you all'._

The next time he's on his own is two days later when Brendan is interviewing bar-staff. Ste stays upstairs… does a bit of home décor. He rearranges the food in the fridge and cupboards. He puts some drawings by the kids up… then takes them down and puts them up somewhere else where they're more visible. He fiddles around trying to install the playstation. He texts Amy again _'twelve days now x'_

Three days later Brendan goes to pick up an order, and Ste busies himself in the restaurant kitchen. He wipes down the counters… imagines doing it when there's actually food there. He flicks through a couple of the recipes Brendan's bought and folds down the corner of the pages. He scrawls down a couple of things for potential menus. He texts Amy _'gona get the kids to rite the kids menu – thatll be wel cute x'_

The day after that he even _leaves _on his own to buy some cigarettes.

It's not much, but it's something. He still gets flooded with relief when he's back with Brendan; relief that everything they're working hard to sustain is still sustaining. But his confidence grows with every day that he's actually doing this, and doing it on his own two feet as well.

So when Brendan has to go for the standard meeting with his lawyer in London, Ste makes a bold decision.

"I'll stay here for the night." He says.

"The night? You sure?"

"Yeah." Ste nods adamantly. "Might start paintin' the red behind the bar actually, what d'ya think?"

"Whatever ye want." Brendan says. Ste smirks, cos he knows it takes _all _of Brendan's willpower to say that.

"Awwwww. Will you miss me?!" He teases.

"I'll miss my cock in your mouth, yeah." Brendan breezes, swinging his jacket on.

"Oy!"

Brendan grins, turning back and planting a firm, tender kiss to Ste's lips that speaks volumes over his crudeness.

"Call me." He says seriously.

The painting serves as a good distraction when he's gone. Ste puts music on; blasts it loudly through the bar-speakers. He splatters paint across the wall, a cigarette in his mouth and his phone just centimetres away, waiting for when Brendan inevitably sends him the custom dirty text.

He's prepared with a whole series of distractions to see him through the night; glasses that need stocking, playlists that need selecting, clothes that need ironing.

He doesn't get that far though.

The thunderous hammering at the restaurant door is even louder than the music.

The crowd of demented looking men who reside there are immediately familiar.

Coked up and wired, Andy leers through the window. There's a hood pulled over his head and a glint in his eye that looks positively deranged. He's out of it. Blazed. A ghostly mirror-image of how Ste looked just seventeen days ago.

"Alright baby?" He leers through the window; voice loud with disorientation. "You lookin' for a good time?!"


End file.
